CT Memories (In lieu of the news)

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

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

Problem solving role

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

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

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

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

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

Copcam Lesson Learned

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

That Frosty Time In Florida

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, the good old days.

 
   

Crisis---of a sort (The Runaway Bidet

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

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

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

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

Cop Cam noted

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

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

Want to test yourself?

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

Winter Landscapes

Come home with white gulls waving across gray

Fields. Evening. Daffodil West.

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

I warm with fire. Curtain shrouds dying day.

Alone.  By the glowing ember

I shut out the bleak-tombed  evenings of November. 

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

Close. Each to each. Oh,

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

Come home at last; come, end of loneliness.

Sea. Evening. Daffodil West.

And your thin dying souls against Eternity pressed.