Friday, March 12, 2010
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.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
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!!!
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, March 5, 2010
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.
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