I wish these photos were scratch and sniff

My next-door neighbor has a pear tree, and the subtle scent of its blossoms has been wafting into my yard for a few weeks now. I've never particularly enjoyed the taste of pears, but these blossoms smell sweet enough to eat.

      

Trinkets and Treasures - No. 2

The last item I showed you was a trinket, but this one is a real treasure, at least to me. I'm pretty sure the genealogy enthusiasts among you will appreciate it, too. It's the oldest thing I own--an original letter written in 1858 to my great-great-great-grandfather, Abraham H. Hetherington, by his brother, Isaac.

The letter came to me when my grandmother died in 1988. It was stuffed in an envelope with other family history documents. It was sealed in plastic then and remains in the same plastic today. Unfortunately, even in that protective environment,  a portion of the letter has separated from the rest along a fold line.

Here it is, front and back:

In this letter Isaac addressed the problem of moving his and Abraham's parents from where they lived then to a better place, and declined without much of an explanation to do the job himself. Here's a typed transcript of the text (blank lines denote illegible words):

          Brandonville, VA. May 17th, 1858 

Dear Brother, 

Yours of 30th Ult. came duly here. 

We are well. I was glad to hear you all enjoy 

good health. You write concerning Father & 

Mother. You think the matter of attending 

to their removal devolves on me. You will 

understand me, that I feel as you on this 

subject, but how under the present cir- 

cumstances I can go, I cannot see. I com- 

ply with your wish in informing you 

thus. If I could at all do it, I surely 

would attend to this duty without delay. 

I hope you or your son will proceed 

to attend to getting them out & that they 

may reach there in safety and that 

the Almighty may spare them long. 

It is heartrending to hear of their suffering and we 

well blame ourselves. I remember of sending the old 

folks some years ago five dollars. I believe this was 

when I lived in Selbysport. Since then he was 

here with us but a good many years ago. 

When he left here, I presented him with such 

articles as he could carry with him for their 

comfort. He was surely welcome and would 

have been to more, but he declined taking 

what I had in fact to force upon him. 

Since that time my circumstances have chan- 

ged so that I have not means to assist 

him at my command, otherwise Brother 

Abraham, they should not suffer. And if I 

could go and attend to them now I would 

go without delay. Well may you say this is 

a serious matter. We owe to Parents debts of gratitude 

we cannot repay. With regard to course of travel 

to their place, I can give you little or 

no information. You are surely aware of the two 

routes by rail, that of Balt. & Ohio and that 

of Pittsburg & Connellsville, or better perhaps by 

water from Pittsburg to Brownsville & then by 

coach to Cumberland. Or you could stop this 

side of Cumberland. Should you or your 

son come in after the old Parents & travel 

by the Balt. & Ohio Rail Rail, you could 

stop at Cranberry Summit 18 miles from 

this place & come here, Or if Boat from 

Pitt. to Brownsville you could stop at _____- 

__________ 12 miles from here & call here. 

I hope you will do so. You say you can 

not well send a constitution (the last) of 

Iowa. I am well aware you would if you 

could accomodate. I inquired of you 

concerning Bro. C. in my last letter. You 

must have forgotten to say something on 

this. Write me very shortly & inform me 

what you are going to do concerning 

the old Parents & when you intend to 

go or send for them and when we ex- 

pect you or your son here to see us 

on your or his way there, inform me al- 

so all you can about Christmas, in each 

particular, and ________ here & intended 

removing to one or the other of the two 

states, which you prefer, yours or Iowa. 

With the best wishes for your prosperity 

and that of your family, 

                           Your Brother 

A.H. Hetherington          I. Hetherington 

Henry and Margaret, the "old parents," were 87 and 65 years old, respectively, when this letter was written, so it's easy to understand the brothers' concern for their well-being. Isaac, in the letter, seemed to acknowledge that he was the logical choice to help Henry and Margaret move, but his reluctance to do so left me wondering how the problem was ultimately resolved.

I've never learned how Henry and Margaret were relocated or who actually tackled the job of moving them, but I was thrilled to find out that both of them were still alive at the time of the 1860 U.S. Census. (A misspelling of their last name had kept that fact hidden from me until last year.)

So where were Henry and Margaret in 1860?  In Southampton Township, Somerset County, Pennsylvania.

And who was the only other person living in the household with them? Why, it was their son Isaac, the shoemaker and former buck-passer.

I love a story with a good ending.

Sidewalks to sanity

NOTE:  An update has been added at the end of this post.

A number of things were going on around here during my recent absence from blogging, one of which involved having sidewalks laid in my backyard to replace the troublesome stepping stones. My son-in-law and I had discussed this project last summer, and when I mentioned it again as a potential project for the upcoming spring, he called the concrete man to get him out here for an estimate. As it turned out, the concrete man said he'd be very busy this spring, but he would have time to begin our little project the very next day.

Backing up five and a half years, I'd had the stepping stones put in during the summer of 2005 in anticipation of Butch's eye surgery a month later. We wanted him to have time to familiarize himself with their layout before the surgery made him totally blind, so he'd have them as a navigational tool. They served their purpose, and they looked nice, didn't they?

The first problem was that it took constant weed-eating to keep them looking this way--weed-eating around each separate paving stone.

The second problem was that they were laid into the ground instead of on top of it, so if it rained, they filled with water and became totally useless except as landmarks for Butch.

And so the laying of the sidewalks began near the last week of January.

To replace the stepping stones that had run parallel to the back of the house (the ones that had long since been allowed to grow completely over with grass), we extended the patio by three feet and added a sidewalk adjacent to the house.

That sidewalk would extend all along the back to the side of the house, where it would meet up with another new sidewalk that would replace the stepping stones formerly leading from the gate to the garden shed.

As you can see in the photo above, we left the stepping stones from the patio to the garden shed alone. We haven't decided whether to let them grow over (probably) or use them to build up the area behind the shed.

Above is the freshly poured sidewalk as it appeared when we thought the job was done. The little square you can see in the new concrete on the right side of the picture (about a third of the way up) was left on purpose because I wanted a little area of dirt that I could stick a bird-feeder pole into. The pole used to be in the yard, but the yard was so boggy I didn't like wading in the mud to refill the feeders.

Moments after I took the photo above, it began to sprinkle, and the sprinkle turned into a severe rainstorm that lasted for hours. Little did we know that the gutters were stopped up with leaves, so the heavy rains poured off the roof and created a deep rut right down the middle of the fresh concrete. The concrete men, who had hurried to finish the job while knowing rain was expected, had to come back two days later to add more concrete and refinish the job.

That rain lasted for long periods over several days and nights, and, at the same time, the temperatures dropped into the low 20s. For four long days, while the rain damage and the rain itself kept the concrete from curing, I couldn't let the dogs go into the backyard. The first day I took them into the front yard one at a time on a leash. Then I realized there was one little place at the side edge of the old part of the patio, a place about a foot wide, where I could lead a dog on a leash and step out into the backyard. So that's what we did, one by one, over and over and over and over for days. 

I had to wear plastic overshoes, but they didn't actually fit over my shoes, so I wore them over my bare feet as I walked in the near-freezing water that stood in the yard. I also had to wear a scarf tied around my head (couldn't find my ski cap), knit gloves, and a full-length, heavy winter coat, with my mother's old plastic poncho over that. It was no fun for me to do that every time the dogs needed to go out, and it was no fun for them to wait for me to put all those clothes on. In fact, Kadi couldn't wait. Kadi was sick the entire four days. Sick with diarrhea.

Do you still wonder why I didn't feel like writing?

Finally, back to Butch. We'd been a bit concerned about how he'd handle the new sidewalks, and he was a little put off by them in the beginning. On the first day he encountered them, he behaved very much like a Roomba vacuum cleaner: each time his foot touched the edge of the sidewalk, he'd bounce back and go quickly in the opposite direction. With a little time, though, and a little assistance and encouragement while on a leash, he figured them out. He crosses the sidewalks easily now and has even cautiously walked the length of the one behind the house. 

The other dogs seem to enjoy the sidewalks and often use them instead of short-cutting through the grass or on the remaining stepping stones. I love them, too. Being able to keep my feet dry while going from the house to the shed has been nearly impossible in all the previous winters I've lived here.

I thought I'd lose my mind during those long days when the rainstorms and the fresh concrete kept me housebound with three stir-crazy dogs, but in hindsight it was worth it. Now, when I'm standing out there in the moonlight, high and dry, waiting for Butch to take care of his urgent, middle-of-the-night business, I feel like the queen of all I survey.

It amazes me how much a few yards of concrete have improved the quality of my life.

UPDATE (just for Patsy's amusement):

Even after the concrete was dry, the yard was so wet that I still had to take Levi out on a leash.  Butch and Kadi walked gingerly through the muck, but without the leash, Levi ran in leaps and bounds and covered himself with it.

At one point Levi yanked hard on the leash just as Butch darted right in front of me. I was standing on the corner of the patio, with the bird feeder pole right behind me, so there was nowhere for me to go except head first over Butch into the water/mud/dog$#!%. Fortunately, I wasn't hurt.  Between the heavy coat I was wearing and the boggy ground, it was sort of like falling onto a waterbed.

No harm but very foul!

Trinkets and Treasures - No. 1

I'm not a material girl. I don't own expensive things, nor do I have a desire to own them, but there are some things in my home that I really, really like. Some are significant because there's history behind them; some just appeal to me for no particular reason at all.

I was looking at one of the items in the latter category today and it occurred to me that I might be able to turn these things into a regular series of blog posts. After all, the word "trinkets" is featured prominently at the top of my sidebar, so the "trinkets and treasures" theme would fit right in. I worried that it might not be an interesting topic, but look how well Oprah has done with her "favorite things" segments.

Pffft! I'm going for it.

Realizing that this bright idea might turn into a "series" of one, here's that one:

This large bowl on my coffee table is probably about fifteen inches in diameter if you don't measure it right where that notch is. The notch, the little holes, and the jagged edge are all part of what appealed to me, along with the patches and the general rustic appearance (I'm a fool for texture). The bowl is very light in weight and seems to be made out of papier mache or something similar.

I was thrilled when my daughter pointed out this bowl in the hobby store. I thought it would be the perfect thing, filled with pine cones, to add a little touch of the outdoors to the room. And it was, for a long time.

The bowl still sits on the coffee table, but it's empty for now. Levi sure did love the crunch of pine cones.

"Oh, did you need this old thing?"

I should have put Levi in his crate before I took a shower yesterday, but he was sleeping soundly and I knew the shower was going to be a quick one, so I didn't. That was my first mistake.

Midway through my shower, I saw his big head poke through the shower curtain and his mouth clamp down on the hot water faucet. "Okay, now he's going to scald me," I thought right before telling him to go away. Telling him to go away was my second mistake.

I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, wrapped a towel around it, dried off as quickly as possible, and walked into my bedroom to get dressed. This is what I saw there:

What looked like an explosion in a cotton candy factory had been Butch's bed only minutes earlier. I didn't have time to deal with it right then because I was on my way to take Kadi to the vet, so I got dressed, put Levi in his crate, and left the house. I was pretty upset; this was Butch's favorite bed. When I got back home, I discovered that Butch didn't seem to mind the damage as much as I did.

It was late afternoon before I could face cleaning up that mess. With Levi hovering nearby and watching every move I made, I fussed at him the entire time I filled two kitchen-sized trash bags. I grabbed another bag of trash from the kitchen and hauled all three of them outside to the garbage can. When I got back in the house, Levi was missing. I found him back in my bedroom with this:

That was all just yesterday. Earlier in the week, wielding a shovel for the first time in, oh, probably twenty years, I filled five large holes Levi had dug in the yard. That little hole he dug the first week he was here? That was nothing. He's a much better digger now:

In fact, he's such a good digger that it took him only about fifteen minutes to redig two of the five holes a few hours after I'd filled them.

Here's some of his other handiwork:

Another one of the four dog beds he has destroyed so far.

A chenille throw that had been folded and draped

on top of a decorative trunk in the corner of my living room.

The first of three books he's chewed. There would have been many others

in this condition if I hadn't caught him while he was running

 with them. He actually pulls them off the bookshelves.

The biggest item he has damaged so far is the futon mattress. Its black, faux leather cover was an early casualty, an easy target because it already had minor damage from the other dogs' toenails.  Levi ripped it to shreds. He also bit through it--and through the original green microfiber cover and the mattress underneath. He pulled stuffing out of the corner of the mattress. I threw the black cover away, sewed up the green cover, and thought it would be okay. An hour later he had torn part of the zipper out of the green cover. I repaired it again, and this time I covered the whole mattress with an ugly, heavy-duty, clear plastic tarp. So far that's still intact. 

I've already told you about the many, many stuffed toys Levi has disemboweled. The only other items that come immediately to mind are the umpteen pens and markers he has snagged off tabletops and countertops. That boy loves the taste of ink.

Now, I realize that this is typical puppy behavior, and I also realize that the fault is mainly mine for not watching him as closely as I should have been. I have consistently failed to comprehend that he has long ago scoped out the house, noted the location of all the items of interest, and needs only a minute away from me to set his plans in motion.

Levi is good about minding when I tell him "no," but the "no" doesn't stick for too long. He's scheduled for obedience training next week. He's already good at "sit," "shake," and "down." I'm hoping the training will focus on teaching him what not to do as well as on teaching commands to do something. 

When Levi isn't in barbarian mode, he's sweet, lovable, smart and very, very funny. That's why I haven't killed him. I forgave him for all of yesterday's transgressions when he climbed up on the sofa last night, pushed as close to me as he possibly could, licked my chin, then lay down beside me with his head in my lap. He's just a baby, after all. A great, big baby.  With a whole lot of teeth. 

But he will grow out of this.

Sometimes I think about you...

Sometimes I think about you

Wonder if you're out there somewhere thinking 'bout me

And would you even recognize

The woman that your little girl has grown up to be?*

One month ago today I got an email from a woman I remember as a child. She's a grandmother now. Her father was my second (and last and best, I always point out) husband. I saw her a few times when we first married, but then we moved away, then she moved away with her mother, and our paths never crossed again.

'Cause I look in the mirror and all I see

Are your brown eyes looking back at me

They're the only thing you ever gave to me at all*

Her brother lived with us when he was in high school and for a short time after that. He moved out as soon as he was old enough to make it on his own, and then, a few years later, their father and I divorced. I only had one phone call from her brother after that.

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California

There's sunny skies as far as I can see

If you ever come back home to Carolina

I wonder what you'd say to me*

I stayed in touch with the rest of my husband's family until he remarried, then backed out of the picture so his new wife wouldn't have to share her warm and wonderful in-laws with me. In doing so, I let people slip away from me whom I loved and respected and thought I would know always.

I think about how it ain't fair

That you weren't there to braid my hair like mothers do

You weren't around to cheer me on

Help me dress for my high school prom like mothers do*

My former husband passed away in 2003. His son died three years later. The only things that connected me to his family after that were the memories my daughters and I shared of the time we spent with them and, also, the family name. I still have that.

Did you think I didn't need you here

To hold my hand, to dry my tears

Did you even miss me through the years at all?*

The little girl I remember so well, the grown-up woman who found my daughter's website, a link to my blog, and then the courage to send a message to a virtual stranger, has started something special. It began with correspondence between her, me, and our daughters. We wondered about her aunt on her father's side, so we reached out on Facebook and found her aunt, her first cousin, and the husbands and kids that belong to each of them. We wondered about her brother's child, also lost to the family through divorce and all grown up now.  We found her first in a blog and then on Facebook. That child and her mother, who was divorced from the family like I was, have since "friended" us all, and those of us who haven't met them yet are hoping to get to know them.

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in California

There's sunny skies as far as I can see

If you ever come back home to Carolina

I wonder what you'd say to me*

We are individual threads of a tapestry called family, unraveled by time and distance, by death and divorce. As adult women now, we are reweaving ourselves into a different sort of family. We are building trust, asking questions, sharing knowledge, fitting the stories of our lives together so that they all make more sense.

Forgiveness is such a simple word

But it's so hard to do when you've been hurt*

I'm writing about this not only because the experience has been so meaningful to me, but because I want to share with you some words that have been repeated several times, from several sources, as we've made these reconnections: "I'm so happy to hear from you," and, "I  never thought anyone cared."

Oh, I hear the weather's nice in Callifornia

And just in case you're wondering about me

From now on I won't be in Carolina

Your little girl is off, your little girl is off

Your little girl is off to Tennessee*

The happy news is that we all cared.  The sad part is that nobody did anything about it.

Sometimes I think about you

Wonder if you're out there somewhere thinking 'bout me*

Unlike the singer of the lyrics quoted above, none of the women in this newly reunited family group is wondering quite so much anymore. I'm so grateful that one little girl grew up and reached out.

*From the song "I Wonder" by Kellie Pickler.

The "I'ds" of March

I'd have had more time to write if Levi hadn't torn up something every time I turned my back on him. The picture in the header shows just a thin slice of my whole house filled with the white, fluffy guts of stuffed animals. I'd have given up on him if he hadn't shown steady signs of improvement. You wouldn't believe the exercise I get every day just picking up after him, but I sure am glad I didn't spend money on a gym membership.

I'd have gone completely crazy if the weather hadn't warmed up when it did and dried out the yard. The dogs tracked in so much dirt during the muddy season that I could almost taste it in the air. It's been warm for more than a week now, and I'm still cleaning dirt and dust out of the corners.

I'd love to have posted the following photos while the moon was still full, but the moon selfishly stuck to its own schedule of phases and completely disregarded what was happening in my life.

I'd like to thank those of you who have continued to check in despite my lengthy, unplanned absence. It would be so easy to just let this blog lapse if I didn't know there are  a few people who would miss it. You can't possibly appreciate how much it means to me that you let me know you care.  I promise to be back in a day or two with a new post, one that I hope will be more worthy of your time and attention than this one is.

Pot Pourri

It's a beautiful day today, about sixty degrees outside.  Rain is predicted to begin any minute, but right now the sun is shining, the dogs are sleeping, and it seems like a good time  for a blog update.  Here goes:


That cold thing:  
My last post was a short one about being cold. Little did I know when I wrote it that it wasn't just the low outside temperature that made me feel so chilly; it was also the first day of The Mother of All Head Colds. Today is the first day in a week I've felt halfway decent, and I still don't go too far away from the Kleenex box. I'm grateful to Kim, who made one drugstore trip and two grocery runs for me during the week, and to Kelli, who brought me two nights' worth of supper this afternoon.


The Tucson shootings:
I'm sure most people who intended to write about this have already done so, and I don't have anything to add to what's already been seen on TV or read online about this specific incident. I do have some strong opinions about the need for more stringent gun control, though, and I wrote about the reasons for those opinions nearly four years ago. If you missed reading it the first time -- and if you're interested -- you can click on this link.


Running with scissors:
About the only thing I accomplished all week was to clear off my kitchen counters and dining table of anything that didn't absolutely need to be there. On the day before I did that, my head was so full of fluid that any sudden movement sent me spinning. Levi saw my slow movements as an opportunity. At one point I heard a clanging sound in the kitchen. By the time I got up to see what had happened, he was in the den, lying on his belly on the futon, with my kitchen scissors in his mouth.

This time it was a hawk:

I recently posted about taking pictures of "hawks" that turned out to be buzzards, so this morning when I saw a very large bird swoop down and land on top of a tree just beyond my back fence, I was skeptical. I photographed it anyway and I'm glad I did. I knew there was a hawk around here somewhere.

Standing the test of time:
I snapped this picture while I watched "The Today Show" yesterday morning:

That's Meredith Vieira with the Video1 superimposed over her head. (I've tried everything I know to get that thing off my TV set, but it's still there, all the time.) What interested me was the outfit she was wearing, because I wore a nearly identical one 42 years ago:

Hemlines were higher in 1969, and heels were lower, but that basic black-knit, turtleneck  dress still works.

Talking about TV:
Last Wednesday night I watched "Off the Map," the new series produced by the people responsible for "Grey's Anatomy." I think I'm gonna like it, although the initial episode didn't hook me the way "Grey's" did. Tonight I'll watch "Harry's Law," because I love  Kathy Bates and because this show is the brainchild of the folks who created "Boston Legal." Then, this upcoming Wednesday marks the return of my guilty pleasure, "American Idol."

Are there any new shows you're excited about?

Locked inside on a cold, grey day

No threat of snow here, but it's a gloomy, ugly day, and I'm cold to the bone.

Can you feel the chill?

The end of week two

We brought Levi home exactly two weeks ago today. That very morning Patsy, of My Life and Times, wrote a really funny post in which she predicted the outcome of my new puppy adventure. I hope Patsy won't mind that I've copied and pasted it here, exactly as she wrote it, just in case you missed it:

"...I went on the whorl wind to see velvet down Louisiana way. Velvet has two old Big dogs she lives with and velvet loves her dogs more than I see as a option but it's her life after all. Well she said she was getting a new PUPPY cause her dogs were getting old and did I mention one is blind? It is A Goldendoodle and will weigh about 50 pounds! Oh yeah she is driving to Texas to get this bundle of Joy. A goldendoodle is a cross of a poodle and a golden retriever that is a bird dog folks.

"She going to be sorry This is what I said to her, we have a pup here, Sammy has one he is 7 months old and I tell you are going to be sorry and you old dogs are going to pack up and leave home. Sam's pup gathers all the stuff he can find in the neighborhood and bring the stuff to the front porch step. then I have to pick the crap up and take it to the trash can. some of his treasures of late included torn pink woman's panties, US army cap and dirty baby diapers.
I know Velvet will say I wont leave him out side to roam the neighborhood, she will before he is there long. Her old blind dog will learn to open the door and say come on puppy lets go play then SLAM the door as soon as puppy is out side.

"I can see it now Velvet will go looking every where saying where is puppy? the old blind dog says, Don't ask me, He's not my dog!"

That post cracked me up so much, but even as I laughed, I knew there might be some truth to it, so I've used Patsy's predictions to measure the success of our first two weeks with Levi.

First of all, my yard is completely fenced in, so there's no way Levi could gather "all the stuff he can find in the neighborhood and bring the stuff to the front porch step." So, you see, Patsy, all the stuff Levi has gathered on my patio was dragged right out of my very own house. Except for the 18-inches-long, four-inches-in-diameter chunk of tree limb. He must have found that way back behind the garden shed, where maybe it had fallen from the neighbor's pecan tree. And, to give him credit, he's learning quickly that when he takes a toy outside, he has to pick it up and bring it with him when he's ready to come back inside. Except I have to stop him at the door each time and check out the toy to make sure he didn't accidentally pee on it. (He hasn't yet learned how to lift his leg.)

My old lab, Kadi, has actually taken a liking to Levi. If he goes outside, she goes, too, and she doesn't come back in until he does. Butch, blind as he is, "keeps an eye" on Levi. Butch goes outside only when he really needs to, certainly not just to be companionable,  but when Levi and Kadi go out, Butch likes to stand in the doorway--with the door wide open--and wait for them. If I touch him in any way that makes him think I'm encouraging him to go outside, too, he jerks back abruptly, turns tail, and moves a few feet further back inside the house. Butch pulls this stunt so frequently that it makes me wonder if he really is waiting for the right moment to slam the door as Patsy suggested.

For the most part it's been sheer joy to have this "young blood" around. Yes, he's a little opportunistic (see yesterday's banana incident), but his kind of ingenuity is exactly what Lassie would have demonstrated as she opened the doors to the burning barn and saved all the livestock. And yes, I do have to bend over and pick up hundreds of white puffs of stuffed-animal innards every day, but think about the health benefits of all that reaching and bending. Who needs Jazzercise when there's a very busy puppy in the house?

While we're speaking of exercise, I don't even have to worry about taking Levi for walks. He expends plenty of energy on his own, racing an imaginary zigzag track through every inch of the backyard.

He runs flat out, as fast as he can go, then leaps up and grabs a branch of the gardenia bush.

Can you imagine the time we'll save by having to trim only the top half of that overgrown shrub?

Usually, after he has played hard, Levi is ready to nap. That's when he reminds me how young he really is: a sweet, sleeping baby who steals my heart by trusting me to take good care of him. He likes to sleep near me in tiny, den-like spaces. Right now he's under my desk:

Even when I'm in the bathroom, he finds a quiet corner:

And then, when I leave the bathroom and walk into my bedroom, my faithful new companion rises and follows me.

I have to ask you, Patsy, could it be any more fun than this?

Nothing is safe here

Three dogs lay sleeping on the living room floor when I sat down to watch TV this afternoon. It was wonderfully peaceful, and before I realized what was happening, I dozed off.

Mere minutes later, I woke up. All three dogs were awake, too. Two lay just where they'd been before, but their eyes were glued to the third dog. He, apparently, had awakened and fixed himself a snack.

I had left two small, perfect bananas in the middle of my kitchen counter. The one you see between Levi's paws is the second banana. That peel beside his left foreleg is from the first one, which he presumably enjoyed in its entirety.

I'll give him very little supper tonight and hope he doesn't get a belly ache.

When going green turned to seeing red

Once a year, just after a lot of folks have been given gifts of new electronic equipment, a local Television station teams up with an electronics/appliance store to stage an electronics recycling day. Last year I was all set for it, but the roads were icy and hazardous on the designated day, so I put all my stuff back into closets to wait for a year.

This year I almost missed it. Luckily for me, the dogs woke me up early yesterday morning, the TV was already tuned to the sponsoring station's channel when I turned it on, and the first bit of news I heard was that recycling was happening that very day. I pulled out all my old electronic equipment, loaded everything in the trunk, and drove to Baton Rouge.

The recycling station was set up in a large, strip-mall parking lot in front of the sponsoring electronics store. When I got there, there were two lines of vehicles at 90-degree angles to each other. At the stop sign where those lines intersected, they merged into one line to approach the collection area. It appeared to me that everyone was being courteous, stopping where they were supposed to, then a car from one line proceeding, then one from the other line. 

When it was my turn to move into the single line, the man in the other line waited patiently, though I could see that he had already turned his wheels in preparation for pulling in after me.  He didn't get the chance. The man behind me clung as closely as if our bumpers were magnetized and squeezed out the other guy.

That didn't go over well. At all. The man who had been cut off pulled his car up until it was almost touching the car of the guy behind me, jumped out and stormed to the window of the SUV behind me, where he shook his fist in the air and yelled, "Back up, you idiot! Back up! Back up! Back up, you old a$$h#&e!"

The "old a$$h#&e" didn't budge, nor did he acknowledge the guy who was waving his arms and screaming at him. He just sat there, staring straight ahead through his windshield, pretending he was exactly where he was supposed to be. The man who'd been cut off, getting more infuriated by the second, began yelling to the security guard at the front of the line and stomped off to meet the guard halfway and return with him to face the offending driver.

The guard assessed the situation and directed the man behind me to pull out of line and drive away in the opposite direction of the recycling area. He resisted at first, but  complied after the guard said a few more words to him. Because I was too busy exchanging smiles and thumbs-ups with people watching from other vehicles, I didn't notice whether the line-breaker man went back to the end of the line or left altogether, no doubt wondering how he'd explain to his wife why all that stuff was still in the back of the car.

Both of these men were geezers (an uncharitable term for people near my own age), and though it was clear, traffic-wise, that one was in the right and one was wrong, it would have been so much easier and safer if the offended driver had just let the other guy get away with it. It would have meant only a one-car delay.

I understand all about "the principle of the thing," so I won't ask you if you think breaking in line was justification for the cut-off man's outrage. Instead, my question to you is, do you think that men's heads continue to get harder and harder as they age?

Buthter

The last item on yesterday's word-verification list was "retsub," which happens to be "Buster" spelled backwards. Every time I hear that name, I'm reminded of a three-year-old girl who was our neighbor in Georgia in the early 1970s.  Her name was Shannon.

Shannon was the middle of three children, the one sometimes pushed into the background by the bright chattiness of her older sister and the constant needs of her baby brother. She was about to start pre-school, and her mother was worried that she would feel alone and afraid in a new place, among so many children she didn't know. It turned out there was no need for concern.

At the end of the first half-day session, the teacher reported that Shannon had taken care of herself very well.  When a little boy showed interest in Shannon's dessert, she scooted a couple of feet away from him, looked him pointedly in the eye, and said, "You ain't a-gittin' none o' mah pah, buthter."

We were new to Georgia then, still fascinated by the cadence of the accent, and when my daughters and I heard that story, we repeated Shannon's declaration over and over to each other. It eventually became a catch-phrase in our family.

Shannon would be about 43 years old now. I wonder if she's still in Georgia and if she has little ones of her own. I wonder if it would make her smile to know that three women in Louisiana still remember her fondly and still quote her words sometimes when the issue of sharing arises.

Verifiably nutty - Part 2

A couple of years ago I posted a list of word verification examples that had amused me, along with possible definitions for those randomly generated "non-words." I've recently filled up another 3x3 Post-It note with funny ones.  Here are the best of them:

1.  uniqu -- one of a kind; unusual, such as an odd spelling of a common word
2.  coxem -- bombard 'em with mail-out solicitations for your cable service
3.  kroeladi -- woman who is known for keeping company with large, black birds
4.  oueltim -- from the past, as in, "Gimme that oueltim religion."
5.  koodies -- what little boys think little girls have
6.  cowson -- bull calf
7.  esmor -- plenty, as in, "Eat up, esmor enchiladas."
8.  nomor -- all gone
9.  pridatac -- full of oneself
10. ungurlie -- masculine
11. refulit -- what to do when one's car runs out of gas
12. puredic -- a) male virgin; b) totally despicable man
13. sockalip -- what to do when one is goaded by a smart aleck
14. ullogi -- words said about the deceased at a fewnarull
15. retsub -- R-E-T-S-U-B. . .B-U-S-T-E-R -- Buster? Buster, is that you writing these things?

Would you go back?

Here's something I wrote this past August and decided not to post at that time:

August 2010:

Last week I had a follow-up visit with an endocrinologist I've seen four times previously. I went to see him originally because my general practitioner suspected I had hyperparathyroidism and might need surgery to remove the affected parathyroid gland(s). After many tests, the endocronologist said, “I can’t prove you have it,” so surgery is not on the table at this point. I’m fine with that.

Instead, the endocrinologist has focused on a bone density scan I had in November 2009, telling me on each of the first four visits that I have osteoporosis (not the less severe osteopenia that the technician who gave the test diagnosed) and pushed me to pursue a certain course of treatment that I've so far resisted due to reports of negative side effects.

On this visit, because I've been feeling exceptionally well and think I could now tolerate the side effects, I was ready to get on with it. But this visit was different. This time the doctor looked at the same November 2009 bone density scan results and said, "Oh, yes, I see that you have osteopenia." (Huh? My condition has improved from osteoporosis to osteopenia on a piece of paper that's been in your file for nine months? Great news!)

He asked if I had any other questions, and I said, "Well, you've mentioned [treatment plan I didn't like] in the past." He looked again at the test results, left to go to his office and do a risk assessment calculation on his computer, then came back and told me I don't need that treatment.

"It wouldn't hurt anything to do it as a preventive measure," he said, "but you can have another bone density scan, let's say next summer, and consider it again then."

What a waste of everybody's time and Medicare's money.

Back to the present:

I'm posting that earlier rant now because I went to see this doctor again yesterday. Yesterday's appointment was scheduled at the end of the one in August. At that time the doctor gave me lab test orders, told me to have the tests done in five months (which I did) and follow them with an office visit ten days later.

This time, after I waited alone in the exam room for more than an hour before he finally came in and rifled through my file to figure out who the hell I was and why I was there, he zeroed in again on that 2009 bone density test, the only one I've ever had, and what he is now calling my "borderline osteoporosis." He told me about a new treatment, one that "only came on the market about four months ago, and it's a really good medicine." It's an injection that's given every six months. He said it costs $700 or $800 and that I should check to see what my insurance will pay. I told him Medicare is the only coverage I have, and he said, "Well, if they need pre-approval, let me know." I said not one word to indicate to him whether I wanted this drug or not, but he hastily wrote a prescription and told me to get it filled at a pharmacy, then bring it with me to his office so his nurse could give me the injection.

He also told me to make another follow-up appointment for six months from yesterday, though he didn't give me any lab orders, so I don't know what he plans to follow up on. I took the prescription without further discussion, intending to find out more about the medication and my insurance coverage and then make a decision. As I started for the exit, a nurse motioned me to the front desk to make the follow-up appointment, but I kept going, saying I'd call back later for that.

Late in the afternoon, after I would have assumed his office would be closed, I got a phone call from someone there asking if I'd filled that prescription. I told her I had not, and she said, "Well, don't fill it; we've ordered it from here." I told her I didn't intend to take the injection until I got more information about how I was going to pay for it, and she said, "Medicare will pay for it."

"How much of it will they pay?" I asked.

"I don't know. Some of it."

I told her she needed to cancel their order for the medication, and she said they would "be in touch" with me.

I do not like to be pushed, and I do not like for someone to think he can make decisions for me, as long as I'm conscious and coherent, just because he has a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Both of the "must-have" treatments he has insisted I take involve extremely expensive medications purchased through his office. I have my own idea about why he's tried so hard to push me into these treatments, but I'd sure like to know what you think. Are you as cynical as I am?

Branching out

January is drab and colorless in this part of the country. I stepped out into my backyard today, camera in hand, and saw no scenery worth photographing. And then I looked higher and found the beauty in my neighbors' trees.

Autumn's oranges refusing to surrender 

Graceful limbs stretching through mingled greens and golds

White bark framing a patch of blue

Maybe I'll just walk through life with my eyes raised upwards until spring.