Over the River and Through the Woods

“Though the doctors treated him, let his blood, and gave him medications to drink, he nevertheless recovered.”    ― Leo Tolstoy

So, we went into the City on Wednesday for my quarterly visit to Colombia-Pres lung tx clinic.  Traffic through Jersey was the pits.  The usual dead stop for 20 minutes at Paterson, then just stop and go to Maywood and Hackensack.  Then just stop again for a while.  Then stuck on the Bridge for a bit, and finally to Milstein.  What a mess!  Scaffolding and construction vehicles EVERYWHERE.

The computers were down in registration.  Took a while.  Everyone in the tri-state area needed a chest x-ray at Herbert Irving.  Took a while again.  People were shouting in the lab down there, so I decided to pass and use the lab on 14.  Finally cleared the Pavilion for the marathon to NYPres. Hurried all the way.  But still w-a-a-y late for 6 min walk.  Hoped they would cancel to preserve their schedule, but N-o-o-o.

Again, I asked, why is it that they don’t meet us at Milstein, join us for the trek over and count that as our 6 min.?  Standard cop out:  They don’t make the rules.  Then who does make the rules for the 6 minute walk, if they don’t??  [15 yds. short of last time.  Consistency counts.]

Breezed through PFTs with 11% improvement.  Unexplainable but welcome.  On to 14th floor for bloodwork and clinic.  Customary two hour wait.  No biggie.  Lots of nice people.

Got bloodwork with customary hematoma and saw Dr. Robbins at 3:30 for my noon appointment.  AOK.  Always anticlimactic.  Good to see her, but she looks tired.

Rounded out the visit with a quick stop at infusion for annual Reclast.  Second marathon of the day to return to Milstein and valet parking.  Enjoyed the insanity that ensues daily from 5-6 pm as the lobby is full of discharged patients, visitors, people waiting for their cars.  Just glad to sit down.

Clear sailing over the bridge, back through NJ, dark to we couldn’t enjoy the scenery through Budd Lake and back to daughter’s house in Bethlehem.

Start time:  7:30 am.
End time: 7:30 pm.

Simply overwhelmed to hear of NYC’s first ebola patient the next morning.  These are exciting times.

~T, 10-24-2014

Time and the River

“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.  ~Henry David Thoreau


Time moves fast at first, then slows.  By the time you are older, time slows and is harder to fill.  When you need time, you just don’t have it.

Weekends as a kid were never long enough.  There was so much to do.  School really infringed on life.

In college, we wasted too much time - discussing, debating, wondering, pondering.  Then we were rushed to get important things accomplished.

As a young adult, time flew.  There were jobs, people, relationships, houses, furniture, weddings, Masters, bigger jobs, kids.  There was no longer time to think, to consider, to savor.

Weekends were errands, day trips, soccer games, painting living rooms, trying to catch up with friends.  Next were the trips to Natureland, picking apples, track meets, allergy shots, and 4th grade fundraisers to Save the Whales. 

Whatever happened to spending three hours reading the Sunday papers?

All too soon, it was time for Parents Weekend, prom pictures, college reunions and talk of downsizing.  Time was spent going to garage sales, visiting parents in nursing homes and sadly going to funerals.

Life happened through all this, and we missed too much of it.  Now time is spent looking at the photos and remembering.  Now there is time to sit and think, to consider and to ponder the big questions.  What to have for dinner?  Whatever happened to the Sunday papers? 


Methinks I see the wanton hours flee,
And as they pass, turn back and laugh at me.
~George Villiers

~T, 10-13-2014

I am reminded of a kinder, gentler time …

"When once the forms of civility are violated, there remains little hope of return to kindness or decency."   
                                                                                       – Samuel Johnson

When I was a little girl, in the olden days, if someone tripped on the steps going into church:
1.  Everyone looked to be sure the person was all right, not hurt.
2.  Someone immediately moved to help.
3.  Everyone else quickly looked away and went about his business to minimize embarrassment.
4.  No one mentioned it again.

There have been so many advances now, in science, technology.  The world has come so far.  Now if someone does anything potentially embarrassing:

1.  Everybody looks and points.
2.  People whip out their cell phones to get video.
3.  The immediately upload the video to YouTube and then share on FaceBook.
4.  It goes viral with millions of views, is said to be trending, and is further shared on the news.

"News" used to mean things like:

1.  The name of one who was awarded a Nobel prize for service to humanity.
2.  Congress passed a bill to make life better for all Americans.  [No joke!]
3.  A new business was opening in a town near you.
4.  The school system was hiring additional staff to ensure a better education for all students.
5.  Here are the sports scores.
6.  Sadly, these friends and neighbors in our town have died.
7.  New babies have arrived to these happy parents.
8.  These events will be happening this week.
9.  Here are the classifieds AND today's crossword puzzle.
10.  For a good laugh, you and your kids can share our comic page!

There was no mention of Lindsay Lohan, the name of Kanye West's baby, which celebrity is in rehab this week or whom Charlie Sheen got fired for just cause [No, wait a minute, that was just because… ].  We didn't get instant coverage of what Paula Deen said twenty years ago - and decide to hold her accountable now.  But it is exciting to know that Twinkies will return to store shelves in July. [Not!]

I wish that civilization's advance had kept pace with that of science and technology.  This is not yet a happier, gentler time.


If we are forced, at every hour, to watch or listen to horrible events, this constant stream of ghastly impressions will deprive even the most delicate among us of all respect for humanity.
                                                     
-Cicero, Roman orator, philosopher and statesman


This last quote by Cicero, who lived from 106 to 43 B.C., is particularly appropriate in this day and age where we are constantly bombarded by horrific news. Wars, terrorism, murder, rape, natural disasters, man-made disasters and more inundate us every day. Cicero's quote proves that what Solomon said is true: "There is nothing new under the sun".

There Is No Planet B

In colonial times, people did for themselves.  People were self-reliant and depended on neighbors who had skills for specialized items:  blacksmith, chandler, cooper, etc.  People didn't shop much.

Later, came the general store where people got their basic supplies - staples, fabric - the tools to continue to do for themselves.  For the most part, everything was "homemade."  Clothes were made.  They didn't come from Malaysia.  Some shoes and boots came from the cobbler.  Others were simply fashioned at home.

Nobody went anywhere to buy a loaf of bread or a can of soup.  There was the milk man [also egg, bread, farm-fresh vegetables, etc.], then catalogs from Sears, Montgomery Ward, Burpee Seed [which also sold LIVE mail order poultry!], door-to-door sales fr Watkins, World Book, McCormack door-to-door spices, Amway, Fuller Brush.

Then came "downtown."  There were shops to buy hats and buttons, bakeries, barbershops.  It was all very "modern."  In big cities came Barnes and Noble [1873], A&P [1859], Macy's [1858] and Bloomingdales [1861]!  People were living in a commercial wonderland.  Who could ask for more!

Yet, more they got - with strip malls, outlet malls, and big box stores.  Then infomercials, online ordering and personal shoppers. 

What next??

This is the miasma that is current consumerism.  Producers, consumers, and finally the big business of the whole recycling component.  The options just make a body quiver with anticipation.  But we've got to clean up our act.  We've got to get it together.  We need more slogans!!  No - we need to actually understand that the best things in life are not things.  Shopping evolved to meet our needs.  It's time for us to evolve to meet our own needs and save our home.  It's time to do for ourselves again.

 

Bottom line:  I consume and recycle.  

Stan produces and recycles.  

Together, we have a zero economic 

and environmental footprint.  

We are so very proud.  

But the question remains -

What next!?

~T, 02-16-2013

But I Don't Want to Say Goodbye …

Sometimes life just seems like chapters full of good-byes.  There is an end to things no matter how much we want to hold onto them.

Sometimes my heart just aches.  I've lost too many people.  In the quiet, the sense of loss overwhelms.  I miss so many people but then I stop to consider Stan's perspective.

Stan retired in 1994.  The VA needed to downsize its senior staff and offered an irresistible retirement package.  He called my office on Tuesday morning and said that he was retiring on Friday.  It was exciting!  I took a disability retirement two years later due to asthma and chronic bronchitis.  I was okay, just slower than I had been, and I tired easily.  I was certainly prone to infection and had repeated sinus infections.  I didn't realize how limited I had become until I was put on oxygen - and eventually had a lung transplant.

Stan fussed and took care of me.  He is still overprotective and still fusses.

But since he retired, together we taken care of many critically ill people in their final days.  We've lost Stan's father, his Uncle John, his Aunt Stephanie, my mother Bette - and so very many close friends.  Our circle of close friends included many transplant recipients and their support group.  And all the while, Stan fussed and took care of me.

When we first approached the idea of a lung transplant, the team talked in terms of one year, three year, five year survival rates.  It trades one fatal condition for a different condition that is complicated medically and usually short-lived.   [Stan continues to fuss and take care of me.]

We all know about the survival rates going in, but the alternative is unacceptable.  So we go forward.  We do it together.  We become very close, sharing such a live-changing experience.  When a transplant friend dies, there is a missing piece in the group and a missing piece in my heart.  I hate a friend going through the pain of loss of a close loved one and not being able to do anything about it.

Stan has grieved for family and friends.  He is stressed watching transplant friends struggle wondering if we're next.  It's hard for me to lose people, but I always know that I'm all right.  I can feel the strength.  Stan watches my face for a sign.  He can't feel what I feel and is never certain that I am all right.  It's harder for him than it is for me.  He never says much.  He just fusses over me.

~~~

For family, and for so many friends:  it gets harder and harder every day knowing that you are no longer in this world with us.   We still haven't been able to accept the fact you're gone... we miss you:  Stan, John, Margie, Stephanie, Bette, Donna and Donna, Elaine, Patty, Judy.  Gary!  Sheila.  Heidi and Mary.  John, Isabel, Bill, Dave and Dick.

Everyone loses people they love.  Families feel it because it's part of living;  soldiers feel it and it affects them forever;  medical teams feel it every day.  People always sympathize and suggest that it will get easier, that time will help heal.

I don't want it to get easier.  All those people, the family, the friends are too important to forget.  It shouldn't be easy.  In life, the things that are really important are never easy.

Softly the leaves of memory fall,
   gently, I gather and treasure them all.


Unseen, unheard, you are always near,
   so loved, so missed, so very dear.

~T, 02-9-2013

Tour de Farce

Today began with a list representing a tour de force. When the government made "adjustments" recently to avoid going over "a fiscal cliff," unexpected changes ensued. Suddenly we were faced with an arbitrary deadline to complete filing for Stan's mother's Medicaid: February 1! We were told on Monday, January 28 that all financial matters must be finalized by Friday, February 1. [Holy crap!!]

After completing a whole lot of stuff earlier, and treading water through three day waiting periods to close accounts, we set off to seal the deal, put the lid on, wrap it up, nail it down. This day is going to require a whole lot of coffee.

10:00 a.m.: Checked with our attorney and then stopped at Wells Fargo Investments, First Niagara Bank, NBT, quick run to the Post Office, [coffee stop @ Byrne], back to First Niagara, to the Federal Bldg., and STOP [12:30 p.m.]. Next/last major check will be ready at Merrill Lynch in Syracuse after 2:00 p.m.

What to do? What to do?? Pit stop at the Indians, and MORE COFFEE! And we're off again.

12:30 p.m.: Took $22 worth of cans to the recycling center in Oneida, took Route 49 north of the lake to Weeden's Antique/Variety Mini-Mall/Store. Bought nothing, but considered all manner of treasures, and on to Syracuse.

2:05: Downtown Syracuse on South Salina, to Merrill Lynch. Picked up final check to close out last account, thanked the nicest people in the world at Merrill Lynch [pleasant, co-operative, HELPFUL]. Called attorney again to report final totals and headed back to Clinton.

3:30 p.m.: Attorney called with final instructions about cash distribution/accounts.

4:10 p.m.: To First Niagara, to NBT to use two existing accounts and open one new account. Reported success to attorney, headed back to First Niagara to close last account. On to post office again, and to Hannafords for a rotisserie chicken. DONE, THROUGH, FINISHED.

It would appear that we have, indeed, completed the paperwork necessary to secure Helen's Medicaid payments. My arm is exhausted from waving around the Power of Attorney all day.

What began as a Tour de Force degenerated to a Tour de Farce. A silver Prius with the speed of light, a splash of slush and a hearty Gimme the Money! The Lone Money Changer rides for the Last Time!

Just as a puppy can be more of a challenge than a gift,
so too can the holidays.

~ John Clayton


I'm sorry to hear that Pres. Bush 41 is having such a difficult time. He's a good man. We are suffering here with what is apparently the same viral syndrome. We've taken to calling it Presidential flu. It has been going around, and we started our first bout at Thanksgiving time. We've done the cough, the nausea, the fever, the aches and the weakness. Then we did it again - and we are on our third round. Just deciding that we are better isn't enough. Mind over matter. Just suck it up doesn't work with this one. We're currently hoping that antibiotics do work!

Due to the persistence of Prezflu, Christmas and Hanukkah were cancelled here. I began to think about wrapping presents. And making shortbread. Sending out Christmas cards. Getting the tree up. How 'bout the lights on the porch? Need to marinate the turkey.

I decided to sit down and think about it some more until it was a reasonable time to take a nap. We finally decided that we didn't want grandchildren to get sick. Stan's mother at the nursing home was already sick - and NO ONE would be allowed a Christmas visit with her. And I was pretty sure I couldn't even LIFT the turkey.

We'll try again in January.
We have lots of birthdays then, too.
Makes a lot more sense.

So - Ho, Ho, Ho, y'all.
~T, 12-27-2012

Now I lay me down …

I don't come from gun people.
No one in the family ever hunted.
We were lake folk and fished.

I went to high school with hunters.
I also went to school with chess players.
Both were equally foreign to me.

I've always been grateful to police -
And military for their willingness to protect.
But I'm really squeamish about guns.

I'm not anti-gun or second amendment.
It just never had any relevance for me.
One way or the other. I don't know what to do.
But somebody needs to do something.

[And yes - I'm still somebody -
But - I really don't know what to do.]

~T, 12-16-2012

O Holy Night …

This is a great time of year. For me, Christmas is a religious celebration. I look forward to the spirituality and anticipate the joy. It happens in my heart and in my church. Knowing that it will always be the same, brings "comfort and joy."

Independent of my personal feelings for Christmas, a couple of other things happen in that same timeframe. It's almost the same as fourth of July. The family gathers, the love flows, it's the "hap -hap - happiest time of the year."

The tree goes up with a lot of handed-down, handmade ornaments and the familiar angel on top. Some came from earlier family trees that Stan and I remember from our family homes as children. A few were wedding presents! Then we bought some early in our marriage for much smaller apartment-size trees.

In the early '70's, toddlers looked with wide eyes on the lights, the sparkles and the shine. They learned that the celebration involving the tree is a commemoration of the baby Jesus birth. As they grew, the separated the story of Jesus from the tree. Both were important in different ways.

The tree became an instrument of family history. "Remember the elves!" "Remember when we made the strawberries!!" "Wow, we still have the cookie angel." "Wait!! It's Jean's job to put the angel on top." "Why does SHE get to do it??" "Because she always has!"

The tree is central. Everyone helps to decorate when the clan gathers. Each year we reflect on who is missing. We trash talk those who just didn't come home - for whatever reason. We miss those are are gone. While trimming, we always eat the same cookies [Grama Bette's anise angels - now made by Jean, Roberta Sachs shortbread and Grama Terry's peppermint meringues] - though we added peanut butter buttons when Dan joined the family.

When he was little, I loved watching Julian's eyes widen as he viewed the assortment. Then there was Gabe's excitement starting with the lights. And then Sam who marveled at absolutely anything, taking great pride in the handmade ornaments that he and Gabe added. Don't they look awesome, Grampa!

It's about family and memories. And as I said, knowing that it matters and will always be the same, brings "comfort and joy."

More Than Fifty Shades of Gray ~

I love the enigma that is winter in Central New York: the drama, the mystery. Each day dawns and there is always the question, “What's the weather like today?” Sometimes it's - “What's happening outside?”

It's always cold. Sometimes there is snow - especially if you live along the Tug Hill Plateau. Often there is wind, making the wind chill factor of interest.

But the real question is always, “What shade of gray?”

Each day a paradox. For example, today the sky is lighter than Cinder Block. I would call it dingy laundry gray. That Tunisian Taupe - that beige/gray that you get when washing clothes in water that isn't quite clean [frequently seen in third world countries].

So, the excitement builds. What color might tomorrow bring?

~T, 12-1-2012

Just one of those days … [Repost]

In 8th grade, some of us were assigned to home rooms in the high school because there was not enoughroom for all of us at Parkway School. Some envied us – the access to older guys, being able to make friends with some of the older girls, an opportunity to learn about “important things.” I was terrified. My father was a teacher at the high school. He was strict and imposing. Lots of people were afraid of him. I wasn't afraid of him, but I wasn't eager to have him aware of everything I did all day every day either.

I tried to blend in and basically get lost in the traffic, sit in the back and keep quiet. Then Miss Hanicker happened to me. [Not just me, of course. It just seemed that way.] I was sitting in the back row in Miss Hanicker's math class. She called on me to solve the problem written on the front blackboard. Unfortunately, I couldn't see clearly enough to read the board. Miss Hanicker moved me to the front row for the rest of the class, and then sent me to see Mrs. Brady, the school nurse.

Mrs. Brady checked my eyes using the big Ǝ E eye chart. Then she called my father! He clearly did not understand the situation. He asked, “Are you doing this to get attention??” Was he kidding? [He was not!] I was trying to be invisible and I had been singled out on the very first day of 8th grade! In front of the entire class! And then they called my father!! What else could go wrong? Clearly, I did not fully grasp the situation yet either!! I had not yet realized the potential outcome! So my father conferred with Mrs. Brady and then called my mother, who called Dr. Farrell for an appointment for my eye exam.

After school, I got on the city bus and went to Dr. Farrell's office on Genesee Street. Dr. Farrell was so nice, and tried to break the news gently but there was no easy way to say it. I would have to wear GLASSES. GLASSES, for heavens sake!!! “But I can't wear GLASSES,” I said. “I already have BRACES!” That was one of the worst days of all my time at the high school. But the next day, I picked up my new glasses anyway.


We all have “worst days.” I'm grateful that I didn't have that many, and that mine were usually behind me before I had too much time to reflect on them.

Phantasy Phat …

For most people, the umbilicus [belly button] is the site of attachment to their mother in utero. After birth, it has no function but is often embellished with jewelry or tattoo.

For me, it is where the capricious Loki-like transplant trickster spirit attaches the valve and hose each night to pump me up. The goal is to "twin" the Michelin man, I think.

I DO take a lot of pills, and most of them list weight gain as a side effect. I never expected that it mean IMMEDIATE weight gain. If I take my morning meds with a cup of black coffee and then get on the scale - I have gained three pounds. That's not transitory weight, just temporary. Oh, no. No yo-yo-ing here. That's PERMANENT weight gain. Oh, yeah!

For those who understand, no explanation is needed.. For those who do not understand, no explanation is possible.

Roads …

Roads

Most people are lucky. Their heads are like a country road – one lane at a time. Oh, sometimes they are slowed a bit by an Amish wagon or the cows crossing to the barn at milking time, but generally they can move along at a comfortable pace.

Some people's heads are more like Main Street. Ideas coming and going; detours to pick up the dry cleaning; hurrying to pick up the kids – at the orthodontist, from piano lessons and then on to soccer practice.

I take Prograf. My head is more like the Cross Bronx Espressway. Some of us laughed yesterday about our lists. My head is constantly making lists to try to bring order: need from the store, errands for this morning, stuff to mail out, calls to make, what to get for Christmas, places to go, things to do, how to achieve world peace. Don't forget Sam's birthday. It's Tuesday – lab day and FREE coffee!

Stuff I need from the drugstore, stuff I want to get from iTunes, projects in process, stuff from Michaels, clean the garage, stuff to throw away, stuff to keep, stuff to fix.

This is why I need a nap. But my head still works overtime. This time, the Cross-Bronx is crowded with Zombies.

A day on the bus …

One day in 1975, my Mom was riding the NYMills bus home from downtown. She had a driver's license but never drove. She saw no need. Driving made her nervous, so she always rode the bus. She knew all the drivers and all the regulars.


So on this ordinary day, she rose to get off at her corner and found herself sitting in the center aisle. Now that was not ordinary. Gil stopped the bus at the corner and looked at her wondering what she was doing? “You okay, Bette?” he asked. She looked shaken and a bit confused, but she assured him that she was fine. Too much heat, sun, medication making her dizzy.


Gil wasn't convinced. He turned off the engine and helped Mom off the bus. He walked her slowly down the street [with her protesting all the way] and got her to the yellow house with the red flowers in front. In the kitchen, he made her a cup of tea and sat with her for a few more minutes, just to be sure. She seemed fine now. She said she was fine.


Gil returned to the bus still waiting at the corner. No one complained or grumbled about the delay. A couple of people had gotten off and walked, but most just waited patiently to find out if Bette was okay. Gil assured them that she seemed fine. She said she was fine. But she always insisted she was just fine. That was the way Bette was.


Turns out Mom was indeed fine. This was one of her many experiences with embarrassing episodes in public places [eepps!!]. Wait until I tell you about her fainting in the bank's revolving door!!


I'm telling you this story today because I've been thinking more about Mom lately, for some reason. But I also need reassurance that things like this still happen today. There are people like Gil out there. And people who wait like the people on the bus – because sometimes - something or somebody else is just more important at that point in time.

~T, 11-14-2012