In sum

 Too difficult  to consolidate here, but I tried to answer the question in a dream:  Ben asked if I'd ever heard of a band called Faulty.   I wanted  to say the only rhyme would be "salty," but try as I might, I couldn't get myself back in the dream. Probably just as well...

Frozen Time

The holidays are over. The household is bereft

Of the noises and the voices; only echoes have been left.

Their car drove off, with kids and dog, 

And I resigned myself

To adding one more visit

To those stored on memory's shelf. 

But hope survived with the dawn of the day.

A network of footprints was etched to display

A gift frozen in time, a vision sent, 

A precious reminder of what visiting meant:

Deep footprints where the parents strode, 

Steps straight and aligned in approach to the road.

Circled around theirs, in loops to and fro,

Small running steps, forging trails in the snow.

Now only the snow recalls the  sound

Of closed doors, goodby hugs, and frozen ground.

The house stands still. The silence grows, 

Erasing with time all that memory froze.

 

The Big Snow

 Way back around 1966 or so (I could look the date up, but not now) , I was teaching at St. Thomas School in Delmar, and driving a 1957 Chevy, which was temperamental at best.I don't recall any warnings of impending  heavy snowfall, and certainly no early dismissals, but when I left the school around 3:30 p.m. or so, the snow had already accumulated and was still falling, heavily. It took me almost 2 hours to get out of Delmar. Traffic was backed up all the way, and my car stalled at least twice, during which times I would get out, raise the hood, do something with the carburetor and the car would start. But on this day, now turned to darkness, by the time I got to Northern Boulevard  to get to Menands, my car came to a dead stop right at the intersection leading to the bridge. So I was blocking traffic, and everybody was anxious to get home. I had retreated to my car, when a very large and very angry black man appeared at my window, demanding I move my car. I said it was dead, so he said all I will do is move your car out of the way, and he pushed my car with his and drove off. I still didn't know what to do. I thought of going to one of the houses across the street , but the snowbanks were now so steep I couldn't get through to the house.  I knew there was a hotel/motel at the end of the bridge; I know the name, but it escapes me now.  I am wearing only a fairly light ski jacket and the snow is blinding, but I start out walking on the bridge to the hotel. I am cold and can barely see ahead.  I am part way across the bridge when a car stops, a man yells out to me to get in. He seems angry too. I do as I'm told and I get in his car. He drops me off at the motel and drives away. I go in and ask for a room. I am very cold and of course would normally have been hungry, but all I want is to get in bed and go to sleep, only calling my mother before I do so.

  The next morning I know I have to somehow get my car started; it's quite a ways down the road, and I go to the front desk to pay my bill. The desk clerk there remarks that he thought I might have frozen from  the way I'd looked the night before. He also tells me  that Father Bondi, parish priest at St. Thomas, had paid my bill, and had also arranged for my car to have been started and driven to the motel. It seems Father Bondi, whom I had very little contact with, had called my mother to see if I'd made it home in the snowstorm. At the time, St. Thomas, Grades k-8,  had only 2 lay teachers employed there. The others were all of the religious order and lived in the convent nearby. He must have felt responsible for all his teachers, even the temporary ones. I can only hope I thanked him for his concern.

I sometimes feel there is too much hype about the present forecast, but I can appreciate the reasoning .

Cookies

The competition was fierce, but I prevailed:  The Nobel Prize of Cookiedom

When You Really Need Someone...

 I finally fell asleep, only to be awakened by a persistent itch just to the left on my upper back. That' s a hard spot to reach even with 2 functioning shoulders, and I have neither. The left shoulder was damaged years ago when a gust of wind blew against the door of a medical building I was leaving, and  the right shoulder suffered a complete rotary cuff tear a few years ago as I attenpted to heave myself from ground to top of my front steps. They do not recommend surgical repair for people past a certain age. 

  It's very early in the morning and I try to stay in bed to reach the itchy spot, but an unable to. I used to have an old wooden backscratcher, but it disppeared under the bed one day, and I can't reach that either. I sometimes wear my pajama tops inside out if they have a sewn-in label which may cause an itch, but that's no help here. So I have to get out of bed, get in  a standing position, and use my left arm to push my right arm as close as possible to the itchy area. And you think Greenland has problems.

In Memory

 

I came across this award, for 15 years of service, dated 1958. So he would have started working for Behr- Manning in  1943, about the time we moved to Valley Falls. 

Like many men of that time, he had little interaction with his children's daily lives. Workday started when he left the house at 6:30 A.M., and he returned about 12 hours later.

 I have 2 vivid memories. He taught me how to play checkers when I was about 10 years old. When I was 19, my dog Lassie died. It was the norm for him to bury our deceased animals in the back yard. But he told me he didn't want to bury Lassie in the bare dirt, so he built what he called a "rough box" and laid her in that before burying her in a section of my mother's flower garden, close to our house.

Dream State--Revisited

 Sure, Dr. Ben Carson, National Health Advisor, had a dream in which all the answers on his certification exam that he took the next day were revealed, but he had prayed for assistance. My dreams are much less spectacular and way less profitable.

  Aside from  the rare and unforgettable nightmares, my dreams now are of the slice of life variety. Often a situation or problem where I am merely a bystander, observing the action or processes taking place.  Sometimes the context is so bizarre or potentially of  use, that I want to recall the substance of the dream, either for future use, or else to analyze it in full so I can rid myself of its intrusion in bits and pieces into  my  memory.  Often I think I can recall a dream from which I've just awakened. That seems clear at first; I will remember that, I say to myself. But most of the time those fragments of memory slip away like passing clouds, or rivers runing out to sea, never to be recalled.

  The other night I had such a dream. I wanted to remember it, or recall the substance of it. I focused on the last words spoken in the dream, which at the time made perfect sense:  "The bald-headed  man will have the answer."  Try as I might, I can't retrieve the rest of the dream, so I have no idea what answer he might have.    But I do have some questions.

 

Dream State

     I am in a hospital room. People are passing by, sometimes entering the room, but no help is provided. I find a person, maybe a nurse, and say I want to leave. But I have no way to leave; I don't know where anyone is who could help me. Finally, a doctor appears and tells me not to worry about anybody else, to think of myself. That's all he has to say. He leaves and I am still in the room. Claustrophobia sets in. 

LIFE'S little PROBLEMS

 Dear Blog, faithful listener:

   I have now 2 working television sets in my house, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. There are at least 2 more, but they haven't been used in a while, because how many tv's does one person need. 

   I mostly have the tv turned on in the living room. While I used to watch shows in bed at night, I seldom have of late, because I stay up til early morning,  due to troubling discomfort when  lying down.

  Sometime in the late fall, though, I found it impossible to activate the bedrom tv. The picture would come on, sometimes without sound, and sometimes not at all. 
The channel would not change. The volume would be at the highest level, unable to be lowered. I replaced the batteries in the Spectrum remote several times, even checking their functioning with the batteries in my working remote. I rebooted the tv, numerous times. All to no lasting effect.

I knew there was a problem, and attributed it to the tv set.  I figured I could ask someone to help me swap out that tv  with one of the inactive tv sets, but I just didn't care enough to do anything about it.   

 Until the arrival of this bitter cold weather. The house gets chilly at night, the thermostat on automatic settings. Rather than adjust the setting, I just wanted to pile on  4 or 5 of my favorite fleecy blankets and watch tv in bed. But the tv does not cooperate. I went through ritual after ritual again:  turning it on and off, rebooting, pressing every damn button on and off the set in every conceivable manner, trying to use the remote which came with the tv, all to no avail. The best I could do was get a single channel with maximum volume, unbearable to even my aging ears. I hesitated to ask for help.The people in my family are very busy, and I can't allow outside repair folks into the hellhole of my bedroom. 

   Pondering my plight one chilly night, while watching the living room tv, but wanting to get under those fleece blankets, I walked into the bedroom, unaware I had the remote from the living room tv in hand. Lo and Behold!  The bedroom tv sprang alive.   Two identical Spectrum remotes, and one remote just ate batteries for no purpose. 

  Next day, I called Spectrum, and the nice man sent me not one, but two new remotes. They come with batteries.

Furniture

I no longer have involvement in, or control of, any important matters, so I tend to focus on the trivial . I bought a recliner armchair. 

     I needed to replace a recliner which I bought only about 6 or 7 years ago. The chair became dysfunctional, as the wooden understructure, which I learned was made from "engineered wood" had deteriorated. Maybe the weight load was too heavy for the chair, or maybe the engineered wood reverted to the sawdust from which it was engineered. My daughter insisted I replace the chair and so there was a forced march to the store, Old Brick being the main target. I couldn't find one which I thought met my needs, or desires, and, while affordable, the price for something that was not appealing resulted in a failed shopping trip. 

  So I postponed thinking about it until my chair transitioned from difficult to use to impossible to use. The weather was too cold for me to want to venture out on another shopping trip, so I did a little research and bought a chair online. 

   Maybe an omen of what was to come, the chair was delivered very early on a rainy day, the box left on my front porch. I was able to wrestle it into the adjoining room, and waited for some help for the unpacking and fairly simple assembly. 

  The chair was of a very reasonable price,  shipping was free, and it at first seemed adequate for my needs. It was comfortable to sit in, rocked, reclined, and swiveled. The chair was considered a manual  recliner, and the device on the side, when activated,  allowed the chair to recline and the footrest to be extended. So far, so good. 

But a problem surfaced with the retraction of the footrest, which operated by pushing it in with your feet. That was perfectly acceptable, except the footrest would not push all the way in. OMG, a falling hazard. I examined the chair's structure, and noticed that the bottom edge on one side of the chair was slightly curved inward, impinging on the footrest, I figured. 

  In addition to the merchant's warranty, I had purchased  the extended 3-year Warranty. I called the seller, and explained the situation. The representative went to check with specialized warranty service and returned to say they would be replacing the chair. I agreed, asked if they would take the first chair back. She said they would. Great, I'll wait the week she said it would take.

   But, a few days later, I received an email saying the replacement chair was not available any longer, and the proposed solution was to send me a replacement footrest. No, I said, I'm not able to replace parts, and more importantly, the footrest itself is not the cause of the problem. The rep had to check. A day or so later, another rep returned with a different solution;  I may need to try pressing the handle in a different manner. No, I said, the chair does not have a handle. She had to go check. Another day or so later, the proposed solution was that they would send a repair person to fix the issue. No, I said, unless they  can bring the whole side of the chair. She had to go check. Another day or so later, I was offered a discount on the price of the chair. I'm tired of this by now, so I agree, with the stipulation that I am also  refunded for the price of the Extended Warranty. The rep had to check, but the next day said they would refund the discount and the warranty price. 

   So above is the picture of my chair, which cost a total of $235, including tax.   Come have a seat.

All in a daze work:

 I finally convinced myself that I was going to have to go to the grocery store, as there was next to no food  in the house, all the Christmas leftovers gone. It was still daylight when I overcame my apathy and left for the store. I only planned to buy a few items, but as usual the number of items bought increases. I no longer bother much with coupons, but I had one for $1.00 and another for $1.25 for items on my list, so I handed them to the cashier, along with bottle return receipts totaling $4.80, and inserted my credit card as payment for my purchases. As she was handing me my receipt, the cashier, when addressing her cash register, suddenly noticed that Oops! she had "forgotten to deduct the coupons." She didn't know how to handle that situation, so she called for help. One employee appeared, and then another, who told me I would have to go to the service desk. So I did. I was asked to insert my credit card again, to certify whatever was required, as to the status of my purchase. Next, I had to retrieve the coupon items from the bag on my cart, and present those items at the desk. Then, if I wished to pursue the matter, I was asked to go to the side of the desk, where another employee said she would need to cancel and re-bill each purchase relevant to each coupon. So I inserted my credit card either 2 or 4 more times, and I guess the matter is resolved. Not being an accountant, I can only guess. 

  I recall in similar circumstances at the same store, the employee who was 

called for help would just reach into the cash drawer of the register there and pay out of petty cash funds the amount owed to the customer. Times have changed. The new process is time consuming. It was dark when I got home.

Once More

 I packed away again the Creche which once belonged to my husband's family. The box seems to be the one in which the creche was mailed to them, though the Kingston address is faded away. The date of the  postage is February 7, 1972. So back on the shelf in the closet it will go. Until next year???

Hospice: What it's good for, or What's it good for?

 I have a friend whose husband was diagnosed with the deadly disease of pancreatitis. During his last hospitalization, the tremendous level of his pain was thankfully alleviated through hospice services. His wife viewed Hospice as almost a divine intervention which ultimately ended his agony.

  My husband's terminal neurological disease impacted his ability to sleep or rest, as he needed to call out for comfort of some sort every few hours, during the night time. The doctor at the Vermont Hospital arranged for him to have someone attend him throughout the nighttime hours, so his callouts would not disturb the sleep of other nearby patients. That was an ideal solution until other patients were no longer nearby, and so the overnight attendance was withdrawn. He missed that service and wished it could be reinstated. The best solution the presiding  doctor could offer was to submit him as a patient to Hospice. A representative from Hospice showed up to enroll him, a young woman who was friendly, talkative, telling me details about her baby son,  and obviously eager to enroll him as a patient. We did so.

   Unfortunately, the hospice services did not allow him to have the nighttime attendant he had so wanted, but we kept him on anyway.

  Not too long afterwards, an aide left him poised on the edge of the bed while she turned away to get some supplies, and he rolled off onto the floor, hitting his head and opening a gash, and probably losing consciousness for a time. He was taken by ambulance to the nearest hospital. In the early hours of that morning, I received  a telephone call from the neurologist who had been called in to assess his condition. He asked me if I wanted him to have a CT Scan of his head to see if there was any internal bleeding. I said yes, and the scan was done.That was the beginning of the end of his being a hospice patient.

For Hospice is a comprehensive holistic program of care and support for terminally ill patients and their families, with the focus on palliative care for pain and symptoms instead of care aimed to cure the illness.The neurologist said Dave's scan would not fall under coverage by hospice, and I said then remove him from hospice. He complied.

The rep from Hospice showed up, asking about the issue. She was curt, almost hostile. I explained that falling out of bed was not a symptom of his illness, but an accident, and I supported my action; if that was inconsistent with her hospice affiliation, so be it. As she was leaving, I asked her how her son was; she answered in one word, as she walked out the door---"growing" was all she said.

 My take on hospice would be that it is a business, founded on the principle of keeping the terminally ill out of the hospital, and medical expenses, primarily unnecessary as not life-prolonging, to a minimum. Different states have different rules for hospices to abide by, as do differing localities. I would say that hospices operate about the same as any franchise, with the ability to choose one over another. Experiences vary, as per those cited above. But Hospice is not certified by angelic sources to descend on the suffering  and manage their entry  into the great beyond.