I Should Have Paid More

I'm getting a new roof this week.  I knew it was time when I started finding shingles in my front yard.  Then my neighbors began stopping by to give me recommendations for roofers, since they were finding my shingles in their front yards every time there was the slightest breeze.  (Yes, I'm the poor white trash of the neighborhood.)

Hopefully, other than a couple of days of annoying noise and dust, it will be an uneventful event... unlike the last time I got a new roof.  Back then I got several estimates and chose the least expensive option from the least sleazy looking guy.  No problem.  Roof fixed.

But then a couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the living room reading whilst an infant Vlad was sleeping in his crib upstairs.  Suddenly, there was what sounded like a huge explosion and my heating ducts instantly released black dust into the air.

My first thought was, "Holy Mother of God, the roof fell in on Vlad!"  Choking from the dust as I raced up the stairs, my second thought was, "I should have paid more for the roof!"

I grabbed Vlad and ran outside where debris was floating down from the sky.  I looked up... and the roof was still intact.  "What the hell?"

Here's what had happened:

(skip to about 1:35 to see video footage)

Yes, some asshole blew himself up just 6 houses away on the street next to mine... a suicide because he was mad at his girlfriend.  WTF?!  Seriously?  Blowing yourself up?  Seems to me like there are a lot of ways that would be much easier and not take out half the neighborhood.

It's the first time I've ever seen something that was literally blown to smithereens.  In the end, they also had to demolish the houses on either side of the explosion site.

As for infant Vlad... he slept through the entire thing!

So this time I did NOT go for the cheapest estimate.  I don't want to tempt fate and endanger the neighborhood.

Changing Gears: A Magpie Tale

Much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to change gears.  Clouded in ennui, it became more and more difficult simply to put one foot in front of the other.  Days turned into weeks and still there was no change in the weather. 

Until one morning he woke up and decided it was time to cut through the fog that had slowly enveloped him.  Digging deep within his soul, he parted the hardened surface to pry the stone from between the frozen gears. 

It was time to start moving again.

* * * * * * * *

Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  This is actually a prompt that she posted some time ago.  I saved it, thinking I would write about it someday.  Months later, here it is... guess I just had to get my own gears moving again.

Reprise: The Fruit Stand

Since I'm headed out camping tomorrow, I thought I'd leave you with this oldie but goodie Magpie Tale.  It was inspired by a visit I made to a fruit stand the last time I was camping at Stony Brook.  Enjoy!  (And if you don't hear from me again within a month, come looking for me!)

SATURDAY, JULY 31, 2010

The Fruit Stand: A Magpie Tale

It began as a simple camping trip with friends.  The day they left to return to town, I ventured into the local village to pick up a few supplies for my last night at the campground.  The fruit stand beckoned me with its hand written signs:  "Fresh Peaches" and "Sweet Corn."

After I pulled off the road, it seemed strange that there weren't many baskets of fruits and vegetables on the table.  Most of the tables were filled with root-bound flowers in old pots. A dilapidated building with a tin roof stood behind the sad array of produce.  Equally dilapidated and misshapen additions were attached to the sides, much like the pop-up campers back at the campground.  Chicken wire covered what was left of the windows.

As I selected a small basket of peaches, the old woman who came out of the even older building rattled off a litany of what other fruits and vegetables were available.  Look at the onions... no soft spots on those. The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hung loosely on her. Tomatoes are nice and ripe... $2 a basket.  Both her hair and body were wiry and one of her front teeth was missing.  Nectarines are nice and sweet.  The remaining teeth reminded me of yellow and white sweetcorn.  We have fresh picked Silver Queen inside, $4 a dozen.  She kept talking as she transferred the peaches I selected to a brown paper bag.  Give the money to the boy.  

I turned and saw a slightly younger man I hadn't noticed before. Likely her son, if the matching dentition was anything to go by.  His hair was a dark blond and was cut unevenly.  The overalls he wore had large pockets to hold the bills and coins I handed to him.  He and his mother looked like they'd just stepped out of a Dorothea Lange photograph, while I felt like I'd just stepped into one.  

Fresh sweet corn inside.  Perhaps I could use a few ears of corn after all.  My son would enjoy that for dinner when I get home tomorrow night.  So, is your son camping with you?  He's working this week, but will be home tomorrow.  There's some summer squash over here... got both yellow and green.  No thank you, this will be plenty enough for tonight.  Kids these days don't get enough fresh air.  Yes, camping is great for kids.  The corn is inside the building.  Were you caught in that thunder storm last night?  Yeah, that was pretty wild!   How old is your son?  Twenty two.  Did you say he was camping with you?  She falls into step behind me as I move closer to the building.    

I wandered into the building after the young man.  There was even less inside than there was outside.  No corn in sight, but then it was hard to see anything in the gloom.  The boy will have to bring it out for you... it's in the back room.  Old fruit crates stack the walls as though they're the only thing holding them up.  So, you say you're camping by yourself?

As I sit on an old fruit crate, staring at the door in front of me, I wonder again how I came to be in such a predicament.  The lock stares back at me, the scratches that I've made on it mirroring the blood vessels in my eyes.  There's nothing to do but sit and wait.  The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hangs loosely on me now.  It's getting hard to remember what I wore the day I stopped at the fruit stand so many months ago.  Loneliness does such strange things to people.

* * * * * * * *

Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Solo Camping

Once again I’m about to embark on a camping trip… by myself. 

Most people think that’s odd, or daring, or crazy.  I, on the other hand, think it makes perfect sense.  After years of jobs where I’m “on” 24-7, the idea of spending time away from telephones and computers always sounds like Nirvana.  I can do what I like when I like without having to take care of anyone else. 

I don’t backpack in the wilds, but rather go to state parks to find campsites that are relatively private while maintaining access to the basic amenities.  (Flush toilets and hot showers.)  That means going online six months in advance to secure the best sites.  (On the water for easy kayak launching and with plenty of trees for keeping the sun at bay and stringing a hammock between them.)

Bugs?  No problem.  I have my screen gazebo at the ready!  I laugh in the face of stinging insects!  (Or there’s always StingStop for the occasional mishap.) 

I have a respectable sized 4-person tent to accommodate my airbed and lawn chair.  I also have a little fan to keep the air moving within the tent.  After the sun goes down, I have a headlamp for reading in the dark. 

Dietary needs have all been accounted for.  I have my Coleman stove for quick coffee access in the morning, a marine cooler for keeping food fresh, my little hatchet for splitting firewood for my fire-grilled cuisine and my “roll-o-roaster” for perfecting the exquisitely browned marshmallow.  Oh… and my box-o-wine for after dinner consumption.

As for activities, I am perfectly happy reading, solving crossword puzzles and playing Scrabble on my Kindle.  The occasional walk or kayak outing take care of my need for physical activity. 

There’s only one think that might intrude on my tranquility this year….

Cleverly disguised as a well-behaved canine, this dangerous beast knows no bounds when it comes to fighting perceived evils.  Look out woodland creatures and fellow campers! 

It might not be such a quiet week after all.

Save the Date!

You're probably wondering where the hell I've been the past 6 months.  You weren't?  Oh, well. 

It's not like I died or anything... I've just been busy with mundane things.  I got my gallbladder removed, I lost 50 pounds, I went to Florida, my car fell apart (literally) while I was in Florida, my brother cheated death again after being on two respirators in intensive care for a month, and Henry the mini-wonder-dog turned one year old.

Oh... and I learned when I'm going to die.

Yes, I found out at the end of April that the actuary tables say that I most likely have another 24.7 good years left before I crap out. Which, if one were to extrapolate that out, brings the date of my anticipated demise to November of 2036.  Just in time for the holidays! 

So, save the date!  With a full 24 years to plan for my little going away soiree, I should be able to go out with a bang! 



Gravestone Generator


Now, what to do with the rest of my time...

Hello Kidney

Remember the story of the unwary traveler waking up in a hotel bathtub full of ice with a kidney missing?  Since I didn't do any traveling over the recent holidays, I didn't have to worry about that happening to me.  Turns out I really don't have to worry about it in the future either.  But let's not get ahead of ourselves...

Those of you who have been regulars around here know that I make a habit of visiting my local hospital once a year.   You'll be happy to know that my bones remained intact throughout 2010. 

Not wanting the folks over at Strong Memorial Hospital to think I'd forgotten about them at the holidays, though, I decided to mosey on over there two days after Christmas.  Just to say hello.  And as long as I was there, maybe they could take a wee peek at my abdominal cavity to check out why I was having severe pains that wouldn't go away.

We had a rip roaring good time!  You meet so many fascinating people in the ER.  Like my first roommate... a sweet little old man who was suicidal.  He didn't stay long as he moved on to more luxurious accommodations in the mental ward.  Then I was awakened from a lovely doze around 2:30 in the morning by my next roomie, a jolly old soul who sang Christmas carols at the top of his lungs.  Sadly, he couldn't remember the words and was the source of a peculiar aroma that came wafting over the curtain that separated us, but why let that spoil a new friendship.  Good times, good times!

About the time they gave the caroler from hell a sandwich and cup coffee to sober him up and sent him on his way, my pain went away.   I was laying there wondering if I should just get dressed, rip out my IV and go home when a doctor arrived to tell me my labs came back wonky.

So it was off to get a CT scan, followed by an ultrasound and a cardiac stress test.  The fun just never stops around that place.   It was the ultrasound technician who showed me the gallstones all lined up in a row like little pearls.  Pretty!  Guess they'll just have to yank that sucker.  No problem.  I can deal with that. 

It was what she said next that gave me pause.... "Has anyone ever told you that you have polycystic kidney disease?"  Uh... no.  Although I do recall my aunt had PKD and had the pleasure of doing dialysis and having not one but two kidney transplants. 

So much to look forward to! Hopefully, it will be many more years before I get to that point, so it's still safe for you to come visit.  But I wouldn't wait too long... or you may end up in a bathtub filled with ice. 

Automatons: A Magpie Tale

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

Day after day they go to the cafeteria, bringing the remnants of last night's dinner.  The worker bees bend over their food intent on little other than consuming the meal that will sustain them through the next four hours until the clock signals quitting time.  Nothing ever changes nor do they expect it to.  The days blend into one another as time marches on.

It would only take one person to look up, to smile, to start a conversation, to open up the drab world and bring in the light.  But that would mean taking a risk.

Instead they opt for anonymity while sitting shoulder to shoulder.  Automatons at the automat.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

I'm a Fun Person... Really!

I went to the doctor for my biennial physical last week.  All things considered, I'm in pretty good shape. 

Blood pressure = good
Cholesterol = good
Diabetes = none
Weight = not good, but on a downward turn since my last visit
EKG = normal
PPD = negative
Flu Shot = injected

I could balance on one foot, walk a straight line, touch my fingers to my nose without looking.

Yeah... not bad at all.

However, I started feeling a little discouraged when my internist stated rather than asked... "You're not sexually active, are you?" 

Excuse me?  Is it that obvious that I've lost my allure?  Don't I look like a fun person? 

How insulting!

So when he came to the part about asking me, in compliance with the New York State Health Department policy, "Would you like a test for HIV?"

Well, I had to redeem my self-esteem somehow...

I said, "Sure!"

Oh yeah!  Those folks down at the lab were going to think I'm one wild and crazy woman!  They probably took one look at me and no doubt had me pegged for a slutty intravenous drug using degenerate.  Good times!  Good times!

Geesh... the lengths I have to do these days to convince people I'm not all washed up! 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On a more serious note...  get tested!

And just in case there was ever any doubt... I'm HIV negative.

The Zen of Working With Very Small People

For the past month I've been working with very small people.  We're talking seriously small people.  So small they don't even talk yet.  At least not in any manner discernible to the average adult.  These wee ones are just beginning to experiment with the spoken word.  Lately, the most frequently used word in our classroom is "woof!" 

Most people wouldn't last an hour in this situation, let alone eight hours a day, five days a week.  It takes a hardy soul to keep from running out screaming.  Already I've had several colleagues ask how I get through the day without shooting myself.  (Of course, the answer to that is simple... guns are outside toys and not allowed at the Home for Wayward Wee Ones.) 

The key to survival is to attain a zen-like state in which you contemplate everything these small people do with a kind of wonder and reverence.  Their babbling becomes quite conversational if you listen closely.  I often wonder if it's a secret language that babies understand perfectly.  And their persistence in learning to do all the simple tasks of life that we take for granted is rather astounding when you stop to think about it.  Some successes may seem mundane while others are truly exquisite...

We have a long, low easel in our classroom on which paper is always available for exploring different media. Three of the children worked together over the course of several days to create this combination of watercolor, tempera and crayon.

I have no idea how long I'll be working with these four wee ones, aged 11-14 months old, but I'm trying to make the best of the time I have with them.  It's a physically exhausting job but there is a peace that comes when they are finally asleep with the lights turned down low and quiet music on in the background.  Rocking a small child to sleep can be a form of meditation when you match your breathing to the back and forth movement of the chair.  It certainly gives me time to think about what I want to do next with my life... 

Catching Up is Hard to Do

Blogging is a funny thing.  You get on a roll and all is blissful as you exchange banter back and forth with other like-minded people out there in cyberspace.  But woe betide you if you stray from the path for any length of time. 

After awhile people start to wonder if you've broken a limb or something and start sending condolence cards.  The longer you go between posts, the fewer and farther between the inquiries become until one day you wake up alone in the dark, with no one to make you laugh or snort Dr Pepper out your nose. 

So, you begin the long trek back to your cyber-friends.  And a long trek it is.  Do you have any idea how long it takes to catch up on a blog roll that has some fifty people... or more?    Catching up is hard to do.  I'm working on it, but I keep finding myself channeling Neil Sedaka as I work my way back...

Don't take your love away from me
Don't you leave my blog in misery
If you go then I'll be blue
'Cause catching up is hard to do

Remember when you read me, right?
And you laughed at me all through the night
Think of all that we've been through
Catching Up Is Hard To Do

They say that catching up is hard to do
Now I know, I know that it's true
Don't say that this is the end
Instead of breaking up I wish that we were catching up again

I beg of you, don't say goodbye
Can't we give our blogs another try
Come on baby, let's start a new
'Cause catching up is hard to do



It may take me awhile, but I promise I'll catch up as soon as I can!