My Parent's Anniversary

Today would have been my parent's 70th wedding anniversary. It's hard to believe that Mom has been gone more than ten years and Dad nearly nine. Nobody knew for fifty years that they had married "in haste". In 1990 Mother mentioned that she hoped there would be no falderal for the occasion. My sister was the one who questioned Mother's memory regarding her wedding date saying the 50th must have been a year ago. Otherwise Mother would have been pregnant for her marriage. "Only a little" was Mom's angry retort. We all had a laugh over Mother still being embarrassed all these years later. Anyway, we honored her wishes and rather than have a celebration for the anniversary, we had a big party for their 80th birthdays. Mom was born in April of 1917 and Dad was born in March of the same year. So in 1997, my sister and I threw a huge party at my sister's house. We rented tables and chairs and dishes and glasses and chaffing dishes and linens, etc. We did most of the cooking and setting up, but it was nice to be able to send the dishes and linens back to the rental store and let someone else handle the chore of that part of the clean up.

The year they got married, Dad was working full time as a cook at the Dutchland Farm restaurant in Groton. Mom was a waitress at the same establishment. Dad also had a part time job as bartender at a place called The Cozy Corner in New London. They had a tiny apartment near The Cozy Corner. On their wedding day, the owner of the bar, Freddie Kahlil, drove them to New York City so they could have something of a honeymoon after the civil ceremony. From that simple start came a happy life with a few ups and downs and two wonderful children...me and my sister. In this age of "throw-away" marriages, it's nice to think that my parents stayed together in spite of the many "bumps" in the road. I recall as Mom lay dying in the hospital, Dad choked back tears as he recalled they would be married 60 years come November. Mom passed away in April of 2000.

Life can be cruel sometimes. About the time Dad was coming to grips with the loss of Mother, he was taken ill and diagnosed with non Hodgkins lymphoma. He passed away shortly after midnight on November 12th. I remember the date because a week prior, on the 4th, my sister and I loaded his wheelchair into my car and took him for a little outing from the nursing home. By this time, he required a lot of care that neither one of us would have been able to provide. I honestly don't think he would have been happy with "his girls" looking after his personal needs anyway. So on this day we went for a little ride in the car to give him a change of scenery. We ended the tour at his home. A lot of things had been removed since we knew he would not be returning, but the living room still looked the same and I think it was comforting for him to sit in his easy chair one more time and drink a cup of coffee. At one point, my sister left the room and I said, "I don't know if it's appropriate to say under the circumstances, but happy anniversary." Even though it was sad with Mother gone, I think it pleased him that I remembered. A week later, he was with her.

This and That

It's been a while since I've written anything so I'm just hitching together some random thoughts in order to get myself back into the discipline. I went grocery shopping today and was delighted to find an obscure brand of soap scented with almond. I was hooked at first sniff but the stuff costs five dollars per bar. Ahhh...it's a bit pricey, but we have to pamper ourselves from time to time. I think the added price might be due to the fact that it is a vegan product. Why do companies charge more for items aimed at a specific market? Oh, wait...I know. Because they can.

Another topic that is troubling right now is my sisters cat. Diana is a lovely Maine Coon Cat. She doesn't have the best disposition in the world, but she loves my sister and, God knows, my sister loves her. They are very affectionate with each other. The cat actually puts her paws around my sister's neck in a sort of hug when they are cuddling. The downside of the seemingly lovely and loving animal is her habit of relieving herself on the carpet, furniture and walls. Unusual for a female cat, but she does spray the wall just like a tomcat might do. Needless to say, this does not make for a very pleasant odor. My recently widowed sister would like to put her house on the market and move to a smaller condo where she wouldn't have to worry about repairs or maintenance, but the aroma of cat urine is not necessarily a strong selling point, especially in today's market. There are products out there aimed at this very problem, but this particular kitty has been busy. My sister went through the house with a special "black light" meant to pinpoint the "problem" areas. She found indications of urine on the carpet, walls and also on the chairs and love seat in the living room. I don't think there is any way the smell will come out of upholstered furniture. It's easy for me to say "Get rid of the cat", but she loves the cat. I know that my cat could do almost anything and I would never consider putting her down. So there it is. I don't know the answer, and I'm so sorry for my sister who has this to worry about.

The Bittersweet Season

I'm beginning to wonder if we will ever see the sun again. I can't even recall the last time I was able to go for a walk (and I'm feeling guilty about that). It might have been Saturday. I know we had moments of good weather, though cool, that day. That was the day Laura and Brian had their cookout and hayride party. It was also the day I worked at the Historical Society museum. We also had a few decent moments on Sunday. That was the day my sister and I went to the play at The Granite Theater. There was a glorious sunset that evening which I arrived home just seconds too late to photograph. The color was so bright, even the pavement and the houses looked pink. Even on the days that haven't involved actual rain, it has been dreary and threatening. I'm a person who suffers all winter from sunlight deprivation, so these last days of clement weather are precious to me. I feel like I want to be outside as much as possible in order to memorize what daylight is like. A friend published a picture of a pretty, yellow toadstool on line today which so intrigued me, I went outside to search for some in my own yard. What I found instead, was a tiny growth of bittersweet, a weed vine which seems to be everywhere at this time of year. It occured to me, as I was taking the photograph, how appropriate was the name of this shrub. It is so cheerful to behold with its bright red and yellow berries and yet it comes at a time of year when we are putting the joys of summer behind us and preparing for a long, cold winter. The very season is bitter, sweet. We do have positive things to look forward to. Surely the colors of autumn are gorgeous to behold. The children are agog at the propect of Halloween and the celebrations and parties and costumes that go with that holiday. Thanksgiving, that family time devoted to cooking and then over-eating will soon be upon us, followed rapidly by Christmas then New Years. The cheery scenes conjured up by the mention of holidays are overshadowed, however, by the thought of slippery roadways and icy sidewalks, chill winds and freezing rain lashing at our faces and penetrating our coats and scarves. Winter can be a miserable time of year here in New England. Yet, as unpleasant as those foul weather memories are, I also recall crisp, cold nights with snow falling silently or bright sunny days with ice making the trees look like glass sculptures. Truly, bittersweet is an apt title for this colorful little harbinger of winter.

It is now day thirteen of the diet/exercise regimen. I failed badly over the weekend by not walking and eating picnic food on Saturday and restaurant food on Sunday. I've also been eating a lot of wrong things on my own time. Some anonymous someone left me a half dozen ears of native corn on the cob while I was out Saturday. I've always had an aversion to waste, so I've been incorporating that corn into my meals that I have cooked for myself. The last of it will be gone today along with the Amerrican chop suey I made out of the hamburger I had to cook Monday. The only part of the diet I have been able to stick to is the oatmeal and fruit breakfast. Oh...and I haven't been snacking at all.
Oh please, let the sun come out soon!

The Rain Came

So finally, the day arrived that I couldn't get out and walk. Hopefully, the walking I did while accomplishing my errands this morning was enough to keep my momentum. I was wide awake at 4:00AM. This has got to stop. I'm exhausted by dinnertime...in fact, I cooked my dinner at 2:00 because I was feeling sleepy, but also hungry. So I baked a chicken breast with lemon/dill seasoning and steamed some red potatoes and broccolli. It was nice. Then after I ate, I stretched out on the sofa for a snooze. I had just dozed off when the phone rang. It was my friend, Marge. I had told our other friend, Becky that I would try to join them for drinks this afternoon...of course, that was out of the question...I was spent. I feel a little bad. I really need to force myself to get out more. I am lucky enough to be healthy at my age, I shouldn't waste it.

I did my usual Friday morning thing and picked up coffee for me and Kim at Dunkin Donuts, then continued on to the airport for our weekly visit. It was earlier than usual because I had gotten up so early. Good thing. I hadn't been there much more than a half hour when the new "owner" walks in, scowls at Kim and barks, "Socialize on your own time." We sort of looked at each other wondering if this was a joke. "What", says Kim. "You heard me. Socialize on your own time." What a dick! I really wish I had the authority to tell him that I've been in meetings to get his ass fired. A much more savvy businessman has approached me to pick my brains about the business because Avis decided to get rid of this guy, Ron. He's a dick to employees, a dick to business associates and most importantly, a dick to customers. He spoke to Kim as though she was an imbecile or a five year old and he completely ignored the fact that he even knew me. I don't care if he IS on the rag, he still needs to be civil to people. I wish I could be there the day the brass arrives from Hartford to rip off his epaulets.
Day eight...woohoo!!

Weather or Not

The morning started out on sort of a bad note, depending upon how you look at it. For the past few days, I've been waking up at 5:00AM, which I rather enjoy. I have time to drink coffee and check my email, then I get dressed and go for a walk as soon as it gets light enough. Today, I woke at 5:00, but just couldn't seem to make myself get up. I went back to sleep and didn't rise until 7:30...not bad', but it felt like over-sleeping after the early starts I've been getting. Oh well...coffee first. About the time the coffee was ready was when I noticed what a dreary day it was shaping up to be outside. The sky looked as though it was going to open up and pour at any moment. This was not good. Along with missing out on exercise, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures I wanted for my Facebook page. Obviously, this was something that could wait, but still I was feeling disappointment. I know what happens when one gets out of an exercise habit...it might never be picked up again. Finally, I decided if it hadn't started raining by now (three hours later) it might just hold off for the rest of the day, or at least long enough for me to get a walk in. So, off I went...down the street, passed the park, passed the service station, over the railroad bridge and out of the village (the railroad tracks are the boundary line for the village proper). Now I found myself on a stretch of road that runs parallel to the train tracks. It seems a much shorter stretch when one is driving in ones car. I made it to the beach with a minimum of panting or discomfort. I will admit, however, I was happy for an opportunity to sit at one of the tables at the now deserted pavilion. It was good to rest my "howling dogs" and enjoy the panorama of sand and surf. Eventually, I regained my stamina and headed off again toward home. There is a newspaper machine at the entrance to the beach, so I stopped and bought a copy of the New London Day to read when I got back to #56. I was very fortunate in that it never did rain, however, it was so warm and humid, I was quite uncomfortable by the time I got to the bottom of my street. There is a wall there on the corner and I was very happy to sit on it for a few minutes before attempting the rather steep climb. Finally, I arrived home. I knew that if I
went into the house I would feel even hotter, so
I sat on the patio and read the paper and was
soon all cooled off. Now the question of breakfast. It was really nearly lunchtime and I almost convinced myself to go to the supermarket for a salad, but I really wasn't dressed for shopping and besides, I go to the market on Friday. I don't know as one can call a cheese omelet a diet dish, but I mixed the eggs with water and not milk, and only used a small amount of butter in the pan. Instead of catsup or salsa, I put dill weed in the omelet for flavor and served chunks of cantaloupe alongside. It was a very nice brunch and now I'll be all satisfied until dinnertime. Especially if I keep my stomach filled with water for the next few hours. That's another thing that is very difficult for me...drinking lots of water. I know how important it is, but I really don't like water and I nearly choke on it if I try to just quickly chug down a glassful. Right now, I'm sipping from a pretty green stemmed goblet with lots of ice. It's very nice and I think my body needs to be rehydrated after this morning's exercise (and sweating). BTW, it's day seven!!

Stressed Out by Food

There used to be a restaurant in Rhode Island that offered an "all you can eat" seafood buffet for something like $45.00. You could fill your plate with shrimp, lobster,steak or prime rib. They had all types of shellfish and side dishes and if that wasn't enough, there was a huge selection of desserts. I never went there because I knew I would feel pressured to overeat in order to get my money's worth. That sort of stress would completely destroy my appetite. A normal portion at a regular restaurant is usually more than I can eat. I remember my grandmother obsessing over food left on her plate when dining out. It seemed like such a waste to her and she always wished that she could be allowed to order from the childrens' menu. Now that I'm older, I can relate to that. I wish I could get a sandwich without such a huge mound of fries. I like baked potatoes, but not if they're the size of my head.

In the past I've been prescribed medications that require that they be taken with food. I would get up in the morning and dread having to eat some sort of food in order to swallow the pill. If not for the medication, I would probably be delighted at the prospect of a delicious breakfast. Some of these medications were to be taken two or three times a day. That would create a whole day of pressure to choke down three meals for three pills.

When my children were babies, I tried nursing for a time. Of course mother's milk relies on the mother taking in nutrients. This always set up a mental block for me. I would try to eat a sandwich or soup at lunchtime and practically be in tears because I just couldn't eat. Then someone told me that beer was an excellent way to enrich my milk. Well, if I thought the sandwich was difficult to swallow, the beer was impossible.

So now I'm trying to eat wisely and lightly in order to lose some weight. I decided early on that a good breakfast for me would be oatmeal and fruit. I've heard that oatmeal is good for the heart and does something to regulate cholesterol. I like oatmeal...oatmeal is not the problem. If you were to ask me what kind of fruit I like, I'd probably say bananas. Bananas are my favorite until I have them in the house. Suddenly there is pressure to eat them quickly because bananas go bad. As you can see by the above picture, once again, my appetite has been affected by food stress. So I guess the best thing for me to do, in order to lose weight, is go on some medication that needs to be taken with food, eat only at "all you can eat" buffets, buy bananas and have another baby...oh wait, that's impossible.

It is day six and I'm still walking and dieting. :)

Early Morning Ramble

I was up at 5:00AM today. Don't ask me why. It seems my body needs less rest these days so if I go to bed early, I'm also up early. My mistake was getting into bed at 9:00 last night to watch television. It wasn't long before the television was watching me. Anyway, by getting up so early, I had to wait two hours before I could embark on my morning walk. I don't like to go out when it's still dark lest I startle a skunk (we have many here). I'm finding it easier to get out and walk if I take my camera along. There are so many interesting things to see in Noank from the architecture to the lovely gardens and of course, the ocean. The house pictured above was always known as "the haunted house". For decades it was lacking paint and the wood siding was rotting away. The earliest inhabitant I can remember was an elderly lady by the name of Grace Knapp. She had two little pug dogs and they all resembled one another. I don't know the people who live there now, but they certainly have done an incredible job of restoring Mrs. Knapp's lovely home.
I have always felt that this was the finest view in all the world. On a clear day, you can see Fisher's Island, NY; Watch Hill, RI and the CT shoreline. I was happy to be snapping pictures early enough to capture this fisherman just setting out for the day.
This picture cracks me up. I had stopped at the church because I wanted to visit the memorial garden where my parents ashes are buried. As I left the garden and was passing by the front door of the church I was astounded to see this smoker's thingy right there by the steps. That's probably where my ashes will end up. But seriously, can't the good church-goers hold out for another fifteen minutes after the service before they light up? Evidently not.

The diet program is still going well. I had a late lunch meeting yesterday at which I had a grilled veggie salad. I was still not very hungry by dinner time, so I ate a yogurt and that was just enough. This morning, I drank coffee while waiting for the sun to come up, then I had my nice long walk and didn't have breakfast until I got back. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and a side of fresh fruit chunks. I will probably eat another yogurt or perhaps a banana for lunch. I have an appointment at 3:00 this afternoon for a physical. There are many things I have neglected health-wise which I must now arrange for. I no longer can use the insurance excuse now that Medicare and AARP supplements are in place. Anyway, Dr. McDermott will keep me occupied until dinner time. I've taken chicken breasts from the freezer so I will probably bake them with a little dill seasoning and also bake a sweet potato. Exciting, huh?

Horse Chestnuts and Other Things

I picked this horse chestnut up off the ground yesterday while out for my morning walk. It brings back a flood of memories from childhood...bare feet and wet bathing suits and lemonade stands and, yes, craft projects with horse chestnuts. Now I worry that I'll step on one and sprain or break my ankle. Advancing years do much to change one's attitude about things.

I'm on day 4 of my diet/exercise regimen. I was up fairly early and had done my one mile walk by 8:00AM. When I got back, the coffee was ready and I was ready for it. Once the coffee kicked in, I was ready for breakfast...oatmeal and a banana. For dinner, I'm planning a broiled chicken breast and a baked sweet potato (easy on the butter). My worry today is lunch. I agreed to meet a gentleman for lunch to discuss a career opportunity he is considering. It is an area that I know about so he's interested in my opinion. But, that's beside the point...the point is, what do I eat for lunch. We're meeting at The S&P Oyster Company and I know they make a very good caesar salad there. The dressing is probably a bad thing, but the greens are good. Since we're not meeting until 2:00PM, I may just call that an early dinner and skip the evening meal all together. We'll see...I'll let you know.

Sunday Morning

One of my favorite things about Sunday is the walk to Carson's Store to buy the Sunday papers. It's a short walk and I can accomplish it easily without too much groaning and panting. At this time of year, Carson's on a Sunday morning, is a busy place both inside and out. In the pleasant weather, they have tables outside, cafe style, as well as the booths and counter inside. Noankers are very much into coming here for breakfast, especially on the weekends. It wasn't always this way. The original store, around 1907, sold work gloves and tobacco to the shipyard workers. Much later, the soda fountain and cases of penny candy were added. It wasn't until the Carson family sold the business that the store began serving breakfast and lunches. The serving of meals required some interior changes most importantly a kitchen. The breakfasts are delightful and one doesn't have to wait long for a refill on the coffee. I usually have my breakfast at home where I can spread out the paper either on the patio or at the table inside. So, I pay for my newspaper, say hello to a couple of acquaintances and head out the door and across the street. I walk home by way of Pearl Street which provides about a mile of exercise. Along the way there are some beautiful old houses and pretty gardens. Today, I was glad I had my camera along to catch the beautiful image of morning glories. When I arrived home to my own little garden I was surprised to see three squirrels working busily around the lawn. I know they frequently bury black walnuts in my planters on the patios. If I don't notice the excavations in the fall, I can't miss the new growth in the spring. I always feel a little guilty pulling up the baby trees, but I don't think they would last long in a patio planter. Finally, I can sit and enjoy a leisurely breakfast and read the paper and perhaps, even do the crossword puzzle.

...and I cook!

When one lives alone, cooking is not the daily chore it is for married people. It's a creative execise that we choose to do when that craving for a "knife and fork" meal becomes overwhelming. Today was such a day for me. I started another diet yesterday and am trying to limit myself to 1,000 calories and at the same time eat a healthy, balanced diet. I'm doing oatmeal and fresh fruit every morning for my heart. I'm pretending that coffee with half 'n' half doesn't count. At lunch I have a yogurt and a banana and the pictured treat for dinner. It is a recipe I made up...chicken coated with seasonings and sauted in olive oil, then served with a lemon/dijon sauce. It makes me laugh to call it "Poop on Chicken"...get it? Poupon Chicken. The pictured plate also contains green beans and Uncle Ben's 90 second pilaf. Here's the recipe in case you want to try it. (I also pretend that a small white wine doesn't count.)

Poupon Chicken

2 medium chicken breasts
2 Tblsps. McCormick Roasted Garlic Montreal Chicken Seasoning
3 Tblsps. olive oil
2 oz dijon mustard
2 oz lemon juice
3 Tblsps. capers (optional)


Put the oil into a 10" skillet and turn heat to medium high. Coat the chicken breasts with the McCormick seasoning. When the oil is hot, put the breasts into the skillet. Cook for a minute or so then turn to seal in the juices. Turn again and then reduce heat and cover pan. Continue turning chicken periodically in order that it not get too brown on either side. When chicken is nearly thoroughly cooked, remove to a plate and add the mustard and lemon juice to the drippings in the pan. Cook and stir over low heat until a sort of gravy results (add capers if desired). Return breasts to pan and allow to simmer another 10 minutes or so. This dish goes well with rice pilaf (as shown) or any form of white or sweet potato...mashed, baked, boiled. Makes enough for 2 meals for one or 1 meal for two.

The Gift

My cat, Natasha, brought me a gift this morning. At first, I couldn't tell what the gift was...it was running too fast. Ever since we moved here, about four years ago, she has been allowed to venture outside. We have a huge yard for her to explore and she usually doesn't stray much beyond the patio. After a few forays, Natasha showed herself to be a formidable hunter. I believe the first thing she captured was a bird. She was so proud of her conquest, she brought it inside to show Mommy. As you can imagine, pandemonium soon broke out in the living room. The bird escaped the cat's jaws and flew willy-nilly trying to escape. The cat took off in hot pursuit. I took off after the cat, knowing that with her in the room, the bird didn't stand a chance. Across the room, over the couch, up on the window sill, crash goes a lamp...the cat was determined. So was the bird. So was I. Eventually, I grabbed the cat and shut her in the bedroom. The bird by now was quivering in a corner. He must've been in shock because I was easily able to scoop him up and release him outside. Since that first capture, Natasha has brought in lots of prey. Birds, snakes, mice, moles, voles...pretty much anything she spots out there is fair game. The worst, by far, was a mouse she brought in once. It ran very quickly once Natasha dropped it on the rug. By the time I had put the cat into the bedroom for a time-out, the mouse was nowhere to be found. I searched along the floorboards, under the furniture and in all the corners. Finally, I located Mr. Mouse. The bad news was, he was running straight at me. At that moment, I honestly wanted to jump up on a chair and scream, "eek". That mouse lived in my apartment for about four days. I tried everything I could think of to capture him. I would catch sight of him every so often scuttling along the wall, but he would always duck behind a heavy piece of furniture or into some hidey hole. It's nerve wracking to have a rodent lurking about your home. I was even willing to try mouse traps but I really didn't want to cause the poor thing pain or death. Finally I was able to corner him behind a door in the spare room. He was paralyzed with fear which gave me time to run into the kitchen and get a plastic food container. What a relief it was when I got that little critter trapped under the bowl and slid the lid beneath him for transporting outside.

Back to today's adventure. As stated earlier, the creature Natasha brought in today was running too fast to identify. I knew by the fluffy tail that it was not a mouse...baby squirrel was my first thought. The frightened animal streaked into the corner behind the antique desk. The cat positioned herself right smack in front of said desk. Scooping up the cat, I hurried her off to the bedroom. Then I went back to the corner to determine if the tiny animal was still there...it was. So I went to the kitchen for a container, thank goodness I have lots of those, and returned to complete the mission. All the while, I had visions of another siege with a creature in my house. The poor little thing was so frozen with fear, it was incredibly easy to trap him under the bowl. It wasn't until I slid the lid beneath him and scooped him up that I realized what we had was a chipmunk. I wish I'd had time to grab the camera and snap a picture of him has he scampered off to the safety of the forsythia bush. He'll have tales to tell his family for a long time to come. Natasha is still pouting.

Veruca 1995 - 2010

Borrowing from the movie, "Love Story"...What can you say about a dog who died... that she was well behaved, devoted, gentle, a superb watchdog? She was all these things and more. My son acquired her as a pup. He was a young bachelor and she an adorable tawny pit bull. As a young man, he had some demons to fight. He was lucky to have a lot of good people in his corner and one especially wise dog with adoring eyes. The responsibility of dog ownership did much to keep the young man on the straight and narrow. The dog took the welfare of her human very seriously.

My mom was still alive when Veruca became part of our family. When she heard that my son had adopted a pit bull she was beyond alarmed. In her defense, all she knew of pit bulls was what she had heard via the media. We had always been cat people so all dogs were considered potentially dangerous and pit bulls, pretty much lethal. Mom was pretty upset when she learned I had plans to travel to AZ to visit my son and his new dog. "Don't stare at her. Don't be alone with her. Don't touch her or let her get close." Mom had lots of advice for me prior to my departure to AZ. She succeeded in making me a little apprehensive about meeting my new grandpuppy. After all, I too had seen the frightening articles about these dogs from Hell.

I truly believe that dogs have a sixth sense when it comes to dealing with humans. They can tell if you're sick or healthy, young or old, strong or weak, friendly or threatening and they treat you accordingly. I was 50 years old when I first met Veruca. I was not sick or especially weak, but I had had a hip replaced and I certainly wasn't as young as I used to be. She was a lady. We immediately had tremendous respect for each other. It was almost as if she knew I had heard the rumors but was willing to overlook the bad press regarding pit bulls. Once I had put my luggage away in my room and sat down on the couch, she jumped up next to me. Still apprehensive, I was a little cool at first. It didn't take long for Veruca to win me over. She seemed to know that if her master liked me, I must be okay. That afternoon she wriggled her way into my lap and also into my heart.

On the second day of my visit, my son had to go to work. I assured him that Veruca and I would be able to amuse and entertain each other in his absence. We got along very well. I was able to find the coffee and figured out how to turn on the TV. We were having a great time right up until Veruca stood in front of the door and commenced to whine. I knew what that meant! One cannot ignore an animal who is hearing the call of nature and I had no problem with walking the dog, however, the apartment was on the second floor and the only way to ground level was via an outside staircase. As I mentioned earlier, I had an artificial hip and that made me a bit leery of any activity which might cause a fall. I pictured this extremely strong dog on one end of a leash and myself on the other. This situation seemed to have the potential for disaster. I had to dismiss my own misgivings because the needs of this poor dog were far more important at that moment. I located the leash and snapped the fastener to the ring on Veruca's collar. Then I took Veruca's face in my two hands and almost pleadingly explained to her that I was not nearly as agile as her master and I would need to go slowly down the stairs. I had seen how my son fairly flew down the stairs with his dog. With enormous hesitency I opened the door. Veruca stepped out. I stepped out. We got to the top of the steps and Veruca turned and looked at me. Her eyes told me she understood that I was not able to race down those steps the way my son did. I still smile when I recall that beautiful dog going down two or three steps and then looking back at me as if to say, "Is this slow enough?". We had a lovely walk, she relieved herself and that afternoon, we bonded.

People who think animals are dumb, are, themselves dumb. I've taken many trips to AZ since that one where Veruca and I first met. I could swear, she always remembers me and we always have a silent acknowledgement of that moment when we decided that we loved each other.

My sweet, beautiful Veruca...I hope that by now, you and Barley are frolicking in doggy heaven and you have even managed to win over my mother.

Tamperproof Packaging

This morning I awoke with a painful "crick" in my neck. It was the sort of pain that makes every movement cause you to wince. I sat up gingerly, aware that a sudden move would cause hot fingers of agony to spread up the back of my head. Where this ailment came from is anybody's guess. My money is on the hours I spent reclining on the couch yesterday, propped up with a throw pillow, first reading and then watching marathon episodes of "48 Hours". When I finally did go to bed, I watched several reruns of "Cheers" and "The Golden Girls", again, propped up with pillows. Okay, so some people get athletic injuries...I get "couch potato" pains. Regardless of the cause, I decided I could work it out by ignoring it. I have a very high tolerance for pain so I rarely even take aspirin. It did occur to me that a hot shower would feel good on my neck and shoulders, so while the coffee brewed, I showered. It did feel good, but didn't stop the pain. After one cup of coffee, I toasted an english muffin and took that back to the computer. I knew it was time for medication when I finished the muffin and was unable to look down to see if there were crumbs on my sweater. I knew there was a new bottle of extra strength Tylonol in the kitchen. As I reached for the pills, I recalled the Tylonol scandal from several years ago. That was the incident which brought about all the secure packaging we now deal with on a daily basis. Funny that the scandal should cross my mind just then because, moments later, here I was trying to see through my pain to open this little pill bottle. First was the box. This wasn't really a huge obstacle except for the fact that by now any move was causing extreme discomfort. With the box opened, I extracted the small bottle and noticed a collar of clear plastic holding the lid firmly in place. There may be, on this bit of plastic, a notch or perforation to enable one to easily remove it. With my poor eyesight, I was unable to detect this so I set to work with a knife and was finally successful in getting a step closer to the pills. Next obstacle was the cap. Again, eyesight would have been a boon. Evidently, the idea was to line up the two arrows (one pointing down, the other up) so that the points meet. At this point (pun intended) one is to push the cap up with one's thumb. Easy peezie! The problem here is, after 55 or so, one's fingers are no longer as strong and agile as they once were. Gripping that tiny bottle and trying to push that cap seemed to require far more strength and coordination than I was capable of. At last, to my great relief, the lid popped off....exposing the safety seal. Dear Lord...recruits at marine boot camp have easier obstacle courses. There was no way my benumbed fingers and limited vision were going to easily remove the silvery seal. Finding my knife once again, I stabbed my way into the pill bottle, extracted two and swallowed them with "now cold" coffee. You'll be happy to know, in the time it's taken me to write this, my neck has begun to feel much better.

A Letter to My Dad

Dear Dad,

Today would be your 93rd birthday. Happy Birthday to you! I've never been comfortable with those notices people put in the newspaper memorializing loved ones. Remember, Mom used to call them "sadly missed" notices? I know that you and she wouldn't like for my sister and me to do that sort of thing, and so, we don't. I often wonder about the mentality that makes people take out space in the newspaper to publicly pat themselves on the back for missing deceased loved ones. That was unkind and that is not what this is about anyway.

I'm writing to you because I want you to know how much I still miss you. It's hard to believe you've been gone almost nine years. Next month will be ten years for Mother. It's a comfort for me to think about you two together somewhere, healthy and happy and spending time with old friends and family members. Sometimes, in my car, the tears will come unexpectedly when I recall how proud you were when I first bought my little Neon. As soon as I picked it up from the dealership, I came straight to your house. You were quite unwell by that time, but you came outside and admired the color and the roomy interior. You were actually beaming in spite of your pain. That look of pride meant more to me than anything I've ever achieved. Your look told me that you were as proud of me for being able to buy a compact car as you would be if it were a luxury sedan. I used to drive you to the hospital for your cancer treatments on the weekends and you always said that my car was more comfortable than Penny's. I'm sure that wasn't true, but it made me feel good. We always used to stop at Dunkin Donuts after those treatments to pick up treats for when we got back home to your house. The family had started a weekly tradition of coming over for a little "coffee" visit. Those visits became precious to us. Although we didn't admit it just then, I think we knew that our time together was coming to an end.

When I look at my cat, Natasha, I often think of when I first got her as a tiny kitten. I brought her to your house to show you the newest family member. We've always been a cat family and I wanted you to meet Natasha before it was too late. She was not exactly an affectionate kitten. I remember I had to hold onto her during the visit that day for fear she would get herself secreted away in some hidey hole that we would be unable to extract her from. She howled so much I had to cut the visit short. I knew the caterwauling must be hard to tolerate in your state of health.

I'm sorry to be concentrating on the last part of your life. I guess those are the clearest memories, but I do have lots of others. Remember the picnics in the summer. Almost always Aunt Eleanor, Uncle Bill, Russell and Grace would be there. Sometimes Grandma and the aunts, uncles and cousins from Massachusetts would also be visiting. Picnics and cookouts were such a treat back then. Your fried chicken was the best I've ever had. Uncle Bill had made that great metal tray for the barbecue so the chicken could cook outside. Sometimes you also made your famous clam fritters, stuffed clams or chowder. You were an excellent cook. Too bad Mom hated the smell of raw clams and the mess they made. We might've gotten more of your chowders, etc.

You used to take us to The Legion Beach near Esker Point when we were kids. You liked to swim and I remember being deliciously "scared" when you would put me on your shoulders and walk out into deeper water. Then you would duck down giving me a brief dunking. It's fun being scared when you know Daddy is there to keep you safe. The worst part of growing up and losing your parents is there's no one to keep you safe anymore. Remember the time I lost my little amethyst ring that Mrs. Bagnell had given me. Who could forget, right? I don't think I ever thanked you for all those mornings you went to the beach before work to look for my ring, so heartbroken was I. I think it was your determination that placed that ring right where I would find it while wading, days later, in the shallow water.

Across the road from the beach was Nick's Ice-Cream Stand. It was exactly where The Fisherman Restaurant now stands. Often, after dinner, you would take me and Penny in the car to get ice-cream. I don't think there were more than five or six selections, but there was a new "special" flavor every month or so. We could choose whichever we wanted. Being younger, I was a bit more conservative in my choices, sticking to the usual vanilla, chocolate, strawberry. Penny, on the other hand, was four years older and very brave. She would dare to try things like orange/pineapple or fudge swirl. I remember lots of occasions when I wished I had chosen what Penny got. Fortunately, there's no such thing as bad ice-cream.

Remember going for rides? I don't think people do that anymore. We would all pile into the car and just drive around. Sometimes Mother would have a destination in mind. She liked to drive around Groton Long Point. There was a beautiful stone house that she always admired. We used to call it Mom's house. I remember once we had to ride to North Stonington because gypsies were camped there. There really wasn't a lot to see which was a disappointment. As kids we always heard thrilling stories and threats concerning gypsies. Speaking of rides in the car brings to mind the old "car wash" on Bindloss Road. Going there with you was one of my favorite things in the world. We would wear our bathing suits and drive our car right into the shallow pool. You would get to work with your buckets and soap and sponges while I did very little to assist. For me it was all about frolicking in the water and looking for turtles and tadpoles. After the washing, you drove up on the side of the road and we would take chamois cloth to dry the chrome and metal.

Almost as good as the car wash was the spring on Cold Spring Road. Our well ran dry nearly every summer and you were the one elected to get drinking water for our entire household and some of the neighbors. It was an adventure to park the car and walk down the narrow trail carrying various bottles and jugs. Most of the time we would meet other people on the trail or have to wait for a few minutes while others filled their containers. It makes me smile now when I picture that corroded metal pipe (probably lead) coming out of that hillside and spilling cold, clear water into the little stream. The spring is now off limits thanks to the health department, but in those days, that was the very best tasting water.

You've given me some wonderful memories and I've enjoyed looking back at them today to celebrate your birthday. You often said you felt guilty that you missed a good deal of your kids growing up years because you were drinking then. I know what you mean about guilt. Now that I'm old, I'm haunted about the things I did or didn't do, the bad choices I made when my kids were growing up. You know what...stop worrying. I don't remember the drinking. I remember the beach, the car wash, the picnics, the ice-cream and a million other things that made my life special and my memories precious. I hope my kids will feel the same way about me someday.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

A Letter to My Dad

Dear Dad,

Today would be your 93rd birthday. Happy Birthday to you! I've never been comfortable with those notices people put in the newspaper memorializing loved ones. Remember, Mom used to call them "sadly missed" notices? I know that you and she wouldn't like for my sister and me to do that sort of thing, and so, we don't. I often wonder about the mentality that makes people take out space in the newspaper to publicly pat themselves on the back for missing deceased loved ones. That was unkind and that is not what this is about anyway.

I'm writing to you because I want you to know how much I still miss you. It's hard to believe you've been gone almost nine years. Next month will be ten years for Mother. It's a comfort for me to think about you two together somewhere, healthy and happy and spending time with old friends and family members. Sometimes, in my car, the tears will come unexpectedly when I recall how proud you were when I first bought my little Neon. As soon as I picked it up from the dealership, I came straight to your house. You were quite unwell by that time, but you came outside and admired the color and the roomy interior. You were actually beaming in spite of your pain. That look of pride meant more to me than anything I've ever achieved. Your look told me that you were as proud of me for being able to buy a compact car as you would be if it were a luxury sedan. I used to drive you to the hospital for your cancer treatments on the weekends and you always said that my car was more comfortable than Penny's. I'm sure that wasn't true, but it made me feel good. We always used to stop at Dunkin Donuts after those treatments to pick up treats for when we got back home to your house. The family had started a weekly tradition of coming over for a little "coffee" visit. Those visits became precious to us. Although we didn't admit it just then, I think we knew that our time together was coming to an end.

When I look at my cat, Natasha, I often think of when I first got her as a tiny kitten. I brought her to your house to show you the newest family member. We've always been a cat family and I wanted you to meet Natasha before it was too late. She was not exactly an affectionate kitten. I remember I had to hold onto her during the visit that day for fear she would get herself secreted away in some hidey hole that we would be unable to extract her from. She howled so much I had to cut the visit short. I knew the caterwauling must be hard to tolerate in your state of health.

I'm sorry to be concentrating on the last part of your life. I guess those are the clearest memories, but I do have lots of others. Remember the picnics in the summer. Almost always Aunt Eleanor, Uncle Bill, Russell and Grace would be there. Sometimes Grandma and the aunts, uncles and cousins from Massachusetts would also be visiting. Picnics and cookouts were such a treat back then. Your fried chicken was the best I've ever had. Uncle Bill had made that great metal tray for the barbecue so the chicken could cook outside. Sometimes you also made your famous clam fritters, stuffed clams or chowder. You were an excellent cook. Too bad Mom hated the smell of raw clams and the mess they made. We might've gotten more of your chowders, etc.

You used to take us to The Legion Beach near Esker Point when we were kids. You liked to swim and I remember being deliciously "scared" when you would put me on your shoulders and walk out into deeper water. Then you would duck down giving me a brief dunking. It's fun being scared when you know Daddy is there to keep you safe. The worst part of growing up and losing your parents is there's no one to keep you safe anymore. Remember the time I lost my little amethyst ring that Mrs. Bagnell had given me. Who could forget, right? I don't think I ever thanked you for all those mornings you went to the beach before work to look for my ring, so heartbroken was I. I think it was your determination that placed that ring right where I would find it while wading, days later, in the shallow water.

Across the road from the beach was Nick's Ice-Cream Stand. It was exactly where The Fisherman Restaurant now stands. Often, after dinner, you would take me and Penny in the car to get ice-cream. I don't think there were more than five or six selections, but there was a new "special" flavor every month or so. We could choose whichever we wanted. Being younger, I was a bit more conservative in my choices, sticking to the usual vanilla, chocolate, strawberry. Penny, on the other hand, was four years older and very brave. She would dare to try things like orange/pineapple or fudge swirl. I remember lots of occasions when I wished I had chosen what Penny got. Fortunately, there's no such thing as bad ice-cream.

Remember going for rides? I don't think people do that anymore. We would all pile into the car and just drive around. Sometimes Mother would have a destination in mind. She liked to drive around Groton Long Point. There was a beautiful stone house that she always admired. We used to call it Mom's house. I remember once we had to ride to North Stonington because gypsies were camped there. There really wasn't a lot to see which was a disappointment. As kids we always heard thrilling stories and threats concerning gypsies. Speaking of rides in the car brings to mind the old "car wash" on Bindloss Road. Going there with you was one of my favorite things in the world. We would wear our bathing suits and drive our car right into the shallow pool. You would get to work with your buckets and soap and sponges while I did very little to assist. For me it was all about frolicking in the water and looking for turtles and tadpoles. After the washing, you drove up on the side of the road and we would take chamois cloth to dry the chrome and metal.

Almost as good as the car wash was the spring on Cold Spring Road. Our well ran dry nearly every summer and you were the one elected to get drinking water for our entire household and some of the neighbors. It was an adventure to park the car and walk down the narrow trail carrying various bottles and jugs. Most of the time we would meet other people on the trail or have to wait for a few minutes while others filled their containers. It makes me smile now when I picture that corroded metal pipe (probably lead) coming out of that hillside and spilling cold, clear water into the little stream. The spring is now off limits thanks to the health department, but in those days, that was the very best tasting water.

You've given me some wonderful memories and I've enjoyed looking back at them today to celebrate your birthday. You often said you felt guilty that you missed a good deal of your kids growing up years because you were drinking then. I know what you mean about guilt. Now that I'm old, I'm haunted about the things I did or didn't do, the bad choices I made when my kids were growing up. You know what...stop worrying. I don't remember the drinking. I remember the beach, the car wash, the picnics, the ice-cream and a million other things that made my life special and my memories precious. I hope my kids will feel the same way about me someday.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!

Natasha's Excellent Adventure

Okay, the secret's out. Natasha is actually my cat. I adore cats and I would have a whole houseful of them except for the fact that Natasha doesn't share my fondness for felines. She, in fact, hates cats. If one dares to set foot on our patio, she will race from window to door to window meowing loudly and hissing harshly. She is extremely brave and ferocious when there is window glass between her and the enemy. For this reason, we are a one cat household. I love her dearly and would hate for the acquisition of another pet to be seen by her as infidelity.

For some unknown reason, I awoke very early yesterday (before 6:00AM). Since Saturday is my usual day to do laundry, I saw the early hour as an opportunity to get that little chore done and be out and about, taking full advantage of a wonderful spring day. I live in a basement apartment, so the laundry room is just on the other side of a door in my kitchen. The washer and dryer are shared by me and a woman who lives upstairs with her teenage daughter. As I pushed open the door and proceeded through with my laundry basket, Natasha scampered along behind me. She often likes to explore that area when she gets the chance. What I hadn't noticed was the fact that the door at the top of the stairs had been left ajar. I watched in dismay as Natasha tore up the stairs and into our neighbor's kitchen. This was a bit of a dilemma. After all, I could hardly barge into someone else's home at this hour. All I could think of to do was to go back into my kitchen and get the container of catnip. This had worked before when Natasha had gotten out into the yard and refused to come in. The promise of catnip works wonders with her. So, I stood at the foot of the steps shaking my plastic container of catnip waiting for my kitty to appear. To my surprise, instead of Natasha, my neighbor, Kim peered around the door. As you can imagine, I felt like an idiot. I explained to Kim that Natasha was somewhere in her house. She looked to her left and assured me Natasha was fine and was enjoying the company of Kim's cat, Riley. Seeing this as a healthy experience, sort of a play date, I agreed to let Natasha stay and play with Riley.

Presently, the washer stopped and I dutifully transferred the wet wash into the dryer and turned it on. Then I shook the catnip container a few times to lure Natasha...to no avail. In 45 minutes, the dryer shut off and I carried the clean clothes back into my place. Once again I shook the catnip and once again got no response. So I got the container of "treats" and shook it. Again, nothing. I went back into my apartment and folded the laundry and put it away. Still no sign of Natasha so I called Kim on the telephone. She thought Natasha had left but invited me up to check for myself. It didn't take long to discover my errant cat hiding under the sofa in the living room. Evidently, there had been some sort of altercation between her and Riley as her ear was bleeding and she was obviously terrified. Warning! Never reach your hand under a couch to soothe a terrified cat. Fighting tooth and nail is a concept I now have way more respect for. Today, my right hand looks like I'm wearing a catcher's mitt. I believe the punctures on the back of my middle finger and on the webbing between my middle and index finger are toothmarks. The others, I'm pretty sure, are claw marks. Either way, we are both happy to be spending this splendid Sunday in our own apartment. One of us, I'm sure, will be reluctant to ever again visit the neighbors.

Ah, retirement

It was a complete surprise to me when I found myself retired on December 1st. I had been employed with the same company since 1988 and expected to work at least until age 65. Evidently, my company didn't see it that way, because on a Friday afternoon in November I and my fellow workers received word that our jobs were being eliminated. To be honest, at the time, it was sort of a relief. The company was providing a severance package based on years of service, so for me, this meant quite a bit of money. Also, I would be able to collect unemployment since I was essentially being laid off. I will turn 65 in May, and at that time will be elegible for Medicare and Social Security. Sounds like a win/win situation...right? My health insurance was to end at the same time my employment ended. It had been a very good plan which included major medical, dental, vision, prescriptions, etc. At age 64 1/2, I'm healthy enough, but I am 64 1/2. That means I've had both hips replaced, one cateract, my teeth need some attention and at my age, one never knows what tomorrow will bring. I was informed that I qualify for COBRA. This is a fine plan which provides the same coverage as the group insurance provided by the former employer. The trouble being, the expense is formidable. I checked into it and found that my cost would be about $500 a month. After a bit of shopping around, I settled on a plan with an insurance company operating through AARP. Initially, I was told the monthly cost would be around $250. This quickly escalated when they found out about my two hip replacements. Now, all of a sudden, I have a pre-existing medical situation. Ka-ching, ka-ching...the price goes to $387. For another $100 I could've gone with COBRA and got the dental plan as well. The good news is, in only two more months I should have Medicare coverage and a supplement to that should be a little easier on the pocketbook.