Have you communicated lately via letter, phone, email with some entity you didn't know regarding business, eliciting a request for information, or expressing an opinion on important social and political issues?
I have infrequently done all of the above through the years, but probably not often enough to any one person that they would remember me from one time to the next. I would estimate that anywhere from eighty to ninety percent of the time, the responses I receive are generally timely and satisfactory. But then, there are those others.
I've been thinking about writing my congressperson, even though I'm pretty confident he is going to toe his political party line on behalf of big business on the matter about which I'm interested. I just can't help thinking, maybe -- just maybe -- he really did perceive the message voters sent that the policies he has been promoting these past seven years have quite fallen out of favor with many more of his supporters, and my views just might be worth paying more attention to now. I suppose his giving credence to my views is just too much to hope for, but hope springs eternal for me. Actually, hope seems to be about all with which I'm left on so many issues today.
The reason I'm hesitating about contacting him is my past experience of doing so has been very frustrating and confusing. This once quite powerful U.S. House Representative, when his political party was in control, I guess has been ill-served by his aides, at least in how they've communicated with me on his behalf. Yes, I do receive replicated hand-written form responses from him, but I don't quite know what to make of them. The content is often very non-specific, and all too often even unrelated to the subject matter of my query.
The first time this happened, I thought it must be a mistake, confusing my message with another's. Then, after such instances repeated through the years, on a variety of different topics, I decided differently. I could only conclude there was no real interest in my issue and wondered what statistical category and pile for form letters my message got tossed into. I wondered what information his aides were really giving him about constituents' communiques. Apparently, all I really accomplished was giving his office an excuse to send me whatever written agenda he was promoting at the time, for that is all I received, along with his thanks for my having contacted him in the first place.
I don't know what you think, but I would rather have no response, than an obviously mechanized one that couldn't even be considered utilitarian since the subject matter was unrelated to my query. I do wonder, if others perceive they are more successful having their views and opinions given serious consideration by those who profess to represent their interests?
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Living In Place Complications
Technology is carefully interrelated in such a manner today that I find once I succumb to using one tech item, sooner or later I must adopt another, ad infinitum. Frankly, I think I can hear conversations exchanged between all these communication devices. Today, I think I heard a cell phone I was using chuckling with the ATM which had tricked me, over what a fool I'd been made of, and now the borrowed cell phone (since I didn't yet have one of my own) was going to rescue me from my dilemma, thus proving how we humans cannot survive without any of them.
My day began innocently enough as I awakened to the sound of grass being mowed, hedges being trimmed and power blowers chasing leaves, all manned by those hired to aid those less able to do all that themselves. I remember as a young girl the days before all this power equipment and having to use an old-fashioned push mower -- I was the power. I have no nostalgia to return to those days. Once I had a home of my own, my husband and I (mostly my husband) prided ourselves in performing our own yard care as did our neighbors.
Then, something happened in our neighborhood. We all became older or health changes occurred. Next thing we knew the better part of wisdom dictated letting someone else perform those yard care tasks. Gone are the days when the neighborhood boys wanted to earn a few extra dollars, so we could hire them to assist with yard care to supplement their newspaper delivery route income. Boys don't even deliver newspapers anymore, adults deliver the papers now from their cars. Even teenage girls are rarely available for babysitting, for by the time they're old enough and mature enough for that responsibility as sophomore to senior high school students, they no longer are interested in such employment. I'm told babysitters today are often Jr. High School age girls from sixth grade through ninth. I would never have allowed a child that young to sit with my babies and young children.
But I digress as I am prone to do. I retrieved the morning papers from the drive, noticing this was a lovely warm Southern California Fall day. The sky was blue, now, streaked with white clouds, a delight to the eye, compared to the dirty tan and ashy gray we had seen with the recent Southern California fires. The atmosphere appeared clear, but I knew invisible particles and respiratory irritants were still present in the outdoor air, since my voice continues to acquire an every so slight raspy quality daily with much exposure to outdoor air. The fires east of here are still not quite contained.
As I readied for my day, I took personal pleasure in the fact I had planned and executed well some routine periodic tasks the day before, involved in caring for my auto, such as the regular oil change, tires rotated, a cleansing wash and wax to rid the exterior of damaging ashes plus any other residue from recent fires, along with having the auto interior cleaned. They also washed all the little round yellow drops off the surface of my car. Just as a side note, I've been wondering for weeks what the round yellow drops were. I just read in the L. A. Times that research had confirmed they were from bees and were pollen associated, but not as everyone had thought. They were in fact: bee "poop" processed pollen. Who knew.
I decided on breakfast out, taking along my usual newspaper to read, which was my plan following performing a number of errands before going to work around the lunch time hours. Prior to leaving the house I had completed my regular end of the month reports and paperwork which I would copy at the nearby printer, then drop off at our local office. With some errands completed, I cheerfully arrived at the ATM, inserted my card, entered the requested information as usual, then inserted the check I definitely wanted credited to my account that day. I also needed to withdraw some cash from my account.
On the screen, up jumped the little flashing dots that raced one after the other horizontally in front of me, then started over again, while the printed message above said "Processing..." Nothing more happened after that, the "processing" continued with those increasingly maddening little flashing dots repetitively racing nowhere. Finally, striking the "Cancel" key in an attempt to retrieve my card and check, I discovered, nothing changed -- "Processing" and those now irritating flashing dots continued as before.
What to do? I wasn't about to leave the machine with my card and check inside, my account open, should the ATM suddenly finish processing and spit them all back out, leaving my account exposed for whoever might appear there next. Several people came by, but beat a hasty retreat as soon as I explained there appeared to be a cash machine malfunction. They turned a deaf ear to my queries about how to get to a phone to report this dilemma to the bank while safeguarding my ATM card and check lost inside the machine. Privately, I dreaded making the phone call, as I knew it meant reaching a recorded message offering me umpteen different choices from which to select and then after a likely interminably long wait, to actually talk with a human being (probably on the other side of this continent, but, hopefully, not outside the country.)
Finally, some good hearted soul came by, was sympathetic to my plight, offered me her cell phone without my asking. Later I learned she was a nurse on her lunch hour which I inadvertently caused her to spend with me. Who says health care workers are insensitive to other people any more? As expected, the bank person I reached with the cell phone was located elsewhere and was quite unfamiliar with my community. I carefully made certain he didn't mix up the name of my city with another pronounced the same but spelled differently, as I had long ago learned the hard way was a mistake often made by others with undesired results.
This bank representative elicited needed personal information, so I'm spewing out my most private security data to which the cell phone lender was privy. (There is no privacy any more as someone keeps telling me, and I keep getting convinced regularly.) The Rep then gave me assurance my deposited official bank check would be credited to my account at the end of the day when they closed out the machine, thus covering checks previously written for which I did not want to be overdrawn. My card having been devoured by the ATM would be cancelled and I would receive a new one within days in the mail.
I repeated what an earlier party who had stopped by the ATM to commiserate with me (but could offer no further assistance,) advised me to do, simply because I liked the way what he said sounded and it made me feel more in control. I told the bank official I would hold the bank personally responsible for any charges that might occur against my account as a consequence of this if all he promised didn't happen and I incurred financial loss.
Then, just when I thought the matter was finished, the bank person transferred me to another employee, to which I had the joy and pleasure (I am being sarcastic) of going through much of this again -- their "Loss and Claims Dept." or some such title. Whatever happened to the days when one employee could take care of everything? I normally would have been writing employee names and promises down, but was unable to do so, and by this time the poor nurse is telling me, "I have to go back to work now," so she needed her phone returned. As she quickly departed, I didn't even get her name or where she worked to offer more than the verbal "thanks" I gave her. I sure hope she had lunch before she came to do her banking which she obviously didn't get to complete.
This is about the third new ATM model installed in this location as they keep "improving"(?) them. Well, I haven't liked this latest model from the beginning, partially because there's much less privacy since it takes any checks that are being deposited, then displays them on the big screen, anyone around could easily see. After this little event today off I went to complete more of my errands, including a newly added stop at my bricks and mortar bank to which that ATM belongs. Also, by going there, I increased my comfort level by double checking to see if I needed to advise my "real" bank directly, as I think of the "bricks and mortar" one, to insure no problem (there was no need to do so, I learned.) I finally got that extra cash I needed. I decided to provide my assessment of this new ATM -- a not very pleasant appraisal -- to my friendly local banker while I was there.
Imagine my surprise when he commiserated with me, saying he had managed to keep that new ATM model from replacing the several directly outside the bank because he had learned the new model had entirely too many unresolved problems. He said he hopes by stalling, that within the next few months they'll get the problems with this new model resolved, because he knows that model will ultimately be installed everywhere. Whatever happened to working out technical machine problems BEFORE putting them into use? They seem to do a lot of that premature releasing of tech equipment -- letting customers work out the bugs.
My banker advised me not to use that ATM any more that I used today, or others placed out like that (it's in the front of what was my deli in a solid connected series of store fronts in a small shopping center.) He also said to avoid the lone standing ATMs in stores or elsewhere, instead to transact ATM business through my grocery store check out clerk. Or, come directly to his and other brick and mortar buildings using their ATMs, or the tellers inside the bank.
I said having to drive myself now for banking, defeated my carefully laid plans for later life independence. First the bank did away with my brick and mortar branch, then they finally put in this ATM 'cause so many people complained. Now, I learn it's best to avoid that ATM. I told him I had discovered not long ago, my residence was positioned so that I was located within walking distance of just about every service I might need, should I ever reach a point where driving a car was no longer possible, and that I liked the idea of living in place as I aged.
I added, I thought it was quite likely that a number of increasingly aging adults were also interested in aging in place. Therefore, we need nearby good safe reliable places whereby we can transact our banking business. I didn't mention my bank wasn't the first to thwart my goal, since a few years ago my local deli closed, which is where they put this ATM and gave the rest of the building to the last thing we needed -- a nail salon and tanning booth.
He suggested I should consider banking on line, and he would like to teach me how to do so securely. Maybe the time has come to check into that, too. Not all checks can be deposited automatically though, nor can I retrieve cash from my computer,so guess I still will need to get to my bank sometimes. I expect to be able to do so for a lot of years to come, but you never know what can happen. Can't plan too far ahead these days, so who knows what will develop with my expectation to live in place here in my home, or how the neighborhood will evolve.
I don't like the idea of banking in my supermarket, but... I guess I'd better consider investigating banking online, but ... I think before this year ends I'll get a cell phone, but... I don't really need it that much and I still want to keep my land line. Did I mention right after the ATM fiasco I walked two doors down and picked up a cell phone catalog at my local Verizon store, co-incidentally re-opened today, and listened to the salesman's pitch? I'll consult with my kids for the real scoop.
I'm not going to use that ATM anymore, but... do you think it knew that I didn't like it? Was there some sort of conspiracy in the airwaves between the cell phones in the re-opened store and the ATM? Then, I remembered the date 10/31/07 -- that the day was Halloween. Those darn goblins! The way things were going, I decided not to go out to the pumpkin patch last night to watch for "The Great Pumpkin," just in case the goblins might turn up there. Maybe next year.
My day began innocently enough as I awakened to the sound of grass being mowed, hedges being trimmed and power blowers chasing leaves, all manned by those hired to aid those less able to do all that themselves. I remember as a young girl the days before all this power equipment and having to use an old-fashioned push mower -- I was the power. I have no nostalgia to return to those days. Once I had a home of my own, my husband and I (mostly my husband) prided ourselves in performing our own yard care as did our neighbors.
Then, something happened in our neighborhood. We all became older or health changes occurred. Next thing we knew the better part of wisdom dictated letting someone else perform those yard care tasks. Gone are the days when the neighborhood boys wanted to earn a few extra dollars, so we could hire them to assist with yard care to supplement their newspaper delivery route income. Boys don't even deliver newspapers anymore, adults deliver the papers now from their cars. Even teenage girls are rarely available for babysitting, for by the time they're old enough and mature enough for that responsibility as sophomore to senior high school students, they no longer are interested in such employment. I'm told babysitters today are often Jr. High School age girls from sixth grade through ninth. I would never have allowed a child that young to sit with my babies and young children.
But I digress as I am prone to do. I retrieved the morning papers from the drive, noticing this was a lovely warm Southern California Fall day. The sky was blue, now, streaked with white clouds, a delight to the eye, compared to the dirty tan and ashy gray we had seen with the recent Southern California fires. The atmosphere appeared clear, but I knew invisible particles and respiratory irritants were still present in the outdoor air, since my voice continues to acquire an every so slight raspy quality daily with much exposure to outdoor air. The fires east of here are still not quite contained.
As I readied for my day, I took personal pleasure in the fact I had planned and executed well some routine periodic tasks the day before, involved in caring for my auto, such as the regular oil change, tires rotated, a cleansing wash and wax to rid the exterior of damaging ashes plus any other residue from recent fires, along with having the auto interior cleaned. They also washed all the little round yellow drops off the surface of my car. Just as a side note, I've been wondering for weeks what the round yellow drops were. I just read in the L. A. Times that research had confirmed they were from bees and were pollen associated, but not as everyone had thought. They were in fact: bee "poop" processed pollen. Who knew.
I decided on breakfast out, taking along my usual newspaper to read, which was my plan following performing a number of errands before going to work around the lunch time hours. Prior to leaving the house I had completed my regular end of the month reports and paperwork which I would copy at the nearby printer, then drop off at our local office. With some errands completed, I cheerfully arrived at the ATM, inserted my card, entered the requested information as usual, then inserted the check I definitely wanted credited to my account that day. I also needed to withdraw some cash from my account.
On the screen, up jumped the little flashing dots that raced one after the other horizontally in front of me, then started over again, while the printed message above said "Processing..." Nothing more happened after that, the "processing" continued with those increasingly maddening little flashing dots repetitively racing nowhere. Finally, striking the "Cancel" key in an attempt to retrieve my card and check, I discovered, nothing changed -- "Processing" and those now irritating flashing dots continued as before.
What to do? I wasn't about to leave the machine with my card and check inside, my account open, should the ATM suddenly finish processing and spit them all back out, leaving my account exposed for whoever might appear there next. Several people came by, but beat a hasty retreat as soon as I explained there appeared to be a cash machine malfunction. They turned a deaf ear to my queries about how to get to a phone to report this dilemma to the bank while safeguarding my ATM card and check lost inside the machine. Privately, I dreaded making the phone call, as I knew it meant reaching a recorded message offering me umpteen different choices from which to select and then after a likely interminably long wait, to actually talk with a human being (probably on the other side of this continent, but, hopefully, not outside the country.)
Finally, some good hearted soul came by, was sympathetic to my plight, offered me her cell phone without my asking. Later I learned she was a nurse on her lunch hour which I inadvertently caused her to spend with me. Who says health care workers are insensitive to other people any more? As expected, the bank person I reached with the cell phone was located elsewhere and was quite unfamiliar with my community. I carefully made certain he didn't mix up the name of my city with another pronounced the same but spelled differently, as I had long ago learned the hard way was a mistake often made by others with undesired results.
This bank representative elicited needed personal information, so I'm spewing out my most private security data to which the cell phone lender was privy. (There is no privacy any more as someone keeps telling me, and I keep getting convinced regularly.) The Rep then gave me assurance my deposited official bank check would be credited to my account at the end of the day when they closed out the machine, thus covering checks previously written for which I did not want to be overdrawn. My card having been devoured by the ATM would be cancelled and I would receive a new one within days in the mail.
I repeated what an earlier party who had stopped by the ATM to commiserate with me (but could offer no further assistance,) advised me to do, simply because I liked the way what he said sounded and it made me feel more in control. I told the bank official I would hold the bank personally responsible for any charges that might occur against my account as a consequence of this if all he promised didn't happen and I incurred financial loss.
Then, just when I thought the matter was finished, the bank person transferred me to another employee, to which I had the joy and pleasure (I am being sarcastic) of going through much of this again -- their "Loss and Claims Dept." or some such title. Whatever happened to the days when one employee could take care of everything? I normally would have been writing employee names and promises down, but was unable to do so, and by this time the poor nurse is telling me, "I have to go back to work now," so she needed her phone returned. As she quickly departed, I didn't even get her name or where she worked to offer more than the verbal "thanks" I gave her. I sure hope she had lunch before she came to do her banking which she obviously didn't get to complete.
This is about the third new ATM model installed in this location as they keep "improving"(?) them. Well, I haven't liked this latest model from the beginning, partially because there's much less privacy since it takes any checks that are being deposited, then displays them on the big screen, anyone around could easily see. After this little event today off I went to complete more of my errands, including a newly added stop at my bricks and mortar bank to which that ATM belongs. Also, by going there, I increased my comfort level by double checking to see if I needed to advise my "real" bank directly, as I think of the "bricks and mortar" one, to insure no problem (there was no need to do so, I learned.) I finally got that extra cash I needed. I decided to provide my assessment of this new ATM -- a not very pleasant appraisal -- to my friendly local banker while I was there.
Imagine my surprise when he commiserated with me, saying he had managed to keep that new ATM model from replacing the several directly outside the bank because he had learned the new model had entirely too many unresolved problems. He said he hopes by stalling, that within the next few months they'll get the problems with this new model resolved, because he knows that model will ultimately be installed everywhere. Whatever happened to working out technical machine problems BEFORE putting them into use? They seem to do a lot of that premature releasing of tech equipment -- letting customers work out the bugs.
My banker advised me not to use that ATM any more that I used today, or others placed out like that (it's in the front of what was my deli in a solid connected series of store fronts in a small shopping center.) He also said to avoid the lone standing ATMs in stores or elsewhere, instead to transact ATM business through my grocery store check out clerk. Or, come directly to his and other brick and mortar buildings using their ATMs, or the tellers inside the bank.
I said having to drive myself now for banking, defeated my carefully laid plans for later life independence. First the bank did away with my brick and mortar branch, then they finally put in this ATM 'cause so many people complained. Now, I learn it's best to avoid that ATM. I told him I had discovered not long ago, my residence was positioned so that I was located within walking distance of just about every service I might need, should I ever reach a point where driving a car was no longer possible, and that I liked the idea of living in place as I aged.
I added, I thought it was quite likely that a number of increasingly aging adults were also interested in aging in place. Therefore, we need nearby good safe reliable places whereby we can transact our banking business. I didn't mention my bank wasn't the first to thwart my goal, since a few years ago my local deli closed, which is where they put this ATM and gave the rest of the building to the last thing we needed -- a nail salon and tanning booth.
He suggested I should consider banking on line, and he would like to teach me how to do so securely. Maybe the time has come to check into that, too. Not all checks can be deposited automatically though, nor can I retrieve cash from my computer,so guess I still will need to get to my bank sometimes. I expect to be able to do so for a lot of years to come, but you never know what can happen. Can't plan too far ahead these days, so who knows what will develop with my expectation to live in place here in my home, or how the neighborhood will evolve.
I don't like the idea of banking in my supermarket, but... I guess I'd better consider investigating banking online, but ... I think before this year ends I'll get a cell phone, but... I don't really need it that much and I still want to keep my land line. Did I mention right after the ATM fiasco I walked two doors down and picked up a cell phone catalog at my local Verizon store, co-incidentally re-opened today, and listened to the salesman's pitch? I'll consult with my kids for the real scoop.
I'm not going to use that ATM anymore, but... do you think it knew that I didn't like it? Was there some sort of conspiracy in the airwaves between the cell phones in the re-opened store and the ATM? Then, I remembered the date 10/31/07 -- that the day was Halloween. Those darn goblins! The way things were going, I decided not to go out to the pumpkin patch last night to watch for "The Great Pumpkin," just in case the goblins might turn up there. Maybe next year.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Recap So. Cal Fires
Our Southern California fires are coming under control based on a variety of reports gathered from the traditional radio, TV and newspaper news sources. I haven't had time to search much on the Internet which I'm sure provides some excellent detailed fire reports. My activities have been such it works for me to catch all-news radio stations when I am busy around the house, or listen to the car radio when I'm out. Also, today I spontaneously treated myself to breakfast out and drug along the Sunday paper to read. I enjoyed being waited upon.
I know my friends would advise me if events were not looking more promising for their family members, so I have employed my mother's philosophy that works quite well in some situations, "no news, is good news."
Sat. the sky was full of that light brown tannish discoloration, completely blocking from view the mountains only a few miles north. I was delighted, only temporarily, when about seventeen big raindrop splotches spattered on my car windshield, I thought this was the beginning of much needed moisture -- it was the begnning and the end. When I arrived home, just as I stepped from the car, more drops almost moistened the entire driveway, but that, too, ended.
From time to time these days the sky's color has transitioned from that light brown to becoming grayish in appearance. This morning we finally had blue sky, accompanied by actual white curdled clouds. Even the mountains were quite visible.
I know the areas east of us in San Bernardino County where Lake Arrowhead, Running Springs and other communities are, continue to demand much concentration from firefighters. For all the remaining fires everywhere I tend to be a bit cautious lest the winds change and come in from the east out of the dessert at what can be at very high velocity -- they're referred to as Santa Ana winds whatever their speed. Dormant fires can suddenly come to life again when those winds emerge. I hope that's not the case this time.
South of here in San Diego County, the San Diego Zoo Wild Animal Park actually had to close for a few days, but is now reopened. Only a very few animals reportedly died and other damage was also minimal. Avocado trees west of there around Escondio, were unfortunately affected, with one report indicating one third of the crop might be lost, possibly resulting in increased costs at the store for consumers. Sadly many homes were lost around Escondido.
North of that area is an Indian reservation, also the famed Palomar Observatory. TV pictures indicate dark smoke roiling in the sky in that vicinity, but lives are not reported to be in danger. I hope they continue to gain increased control there.
Events such as this should give us all pause to reassess what our disaster plans are. There are various events, in addition to fire, that are unique to each persons' own geographic area which could necessitate a hasty departure from home. I've been guilty, as probably others are, of needing to reassess my preparations for the unknown. We saw in New Orleans, and some have probably learned the hard way here in Southern California, about some of the complications that can prevail -- the value of self-reliance -- how unpredictable life can be.
I'm delighted to start this day hearing there's a possibility we may be able to look forward to some rain in the days ahead, that the winds are cooperatively laying low, and a high percentage of fire control prevails in most all fire areas.
I know my friends would advise me if events were not looking more promising for their family members, so I have employed my mother's philosophy that works quite well in some situations, "no news, is good news."
Sat. the sky was full of that light brown tannish discoloration, completely blocking from view the mountains only a few miles north. I was delighted, only temporarily, when about seventeen big raindrop splotches spattered on my car windshield, I thought this was the beginning of much needed moisture -- it was the begnning and the end. When I arrived home, just as I stepped from the car, more drops almost moistened the entire driveway, but that, too, ended.
From time to time these days the sky's color has transitioned from that light brown to becoming grayish in appearance. This morning we finally had blue sky, accompanied by actual white curdled clouds. Even the mountains were quite visible.
I know the areas east of us in San Bernardino County where Lake Arrowhead, Running Springs and other communities are, continue to demand much concentration from firefighters. For all the remaining fires everywhere I tend to be a bit cautious lest the winds change and come in from the east out of the dessert at what can be at very high velocity -- they're referred to as Santa Ana winds whatever their speed. Dormant fires can suddenly come to life again when those winds emerge. I hope that's not the case this time.
South of here in San Diego County, the San Diego Zoo Wild Animal Park actually had to close for a few days, but is now reopened. Only a very few animals reportedly died and other damage was also minimal. Avocado trees west of there around Escondio, were unfortunately affected, with one report indicating one third of the crop might be lost, possibly resulting in increased costs at the store for consumers. Sadly many homes were lost around Escondido.
North of that area is an Indian reservation, also the famed Palomar Observatory. TV pictures indicate dark smoke roiling in the sky in that vicinity, but lives are not reported to be in danger. I hope they continue to gain increased control there.
Events such as this should give us all pause to reassess what our disaster plans are. There are various events, in addition to fire, that are unique to each persons' own geographic area which could necessitate a hasty departure from home. I've been guilty, as probably others are, of needing to reassess my preparations for the unknown. We saw in New Orleans, and some have probably learned the hard way here in Southern California, about some of the complications that can prevail -- the value of self-reliance -- how unpredictable life can be.
I'm delighted to start this day hearing there's a possibility we may be able to look forward to some rain in the days ahead, that the winds are cooperatively laying low, and a high percentage of fire control prevails in most all fire areas.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Fires Overshadow Blog First Year Anniversary Celebration
Southern California fires overshadow "Along The Way" blog's first year anniversary celebration. I may share my reflective observations on this first year of blogging sometime in the future.
But my thoughts are continuing to be pre-occupied with the devastating Southern California fires. I am so familiar with many of these areas that are being ravaged. Irvine was subjected to loss, though not the Amphitheatre where I enjoyed summer concerts about which I wrote here in earlier posts. The news mention of almost every Southern California community affected by fire arouses recent or past memories of just driving through there, sometimes of time spent there, often when my husband was still living, or my children younger.
Only a few weeks ago I travelled on Interstate 15 to a class at the Escondido hospital in San Diego County, near where my long favorite Bates Brothers Nut Farm is located. Some years ago our children walked through the pumpkin patch, each finally choosing and picking their own Halloween pumpkin. Another favorite site of ours there is the nearby San Diego Zoo Wild Animal Park. Hills all around Escondido are covered with avocado trees. I've heard no news reports to the contrary so trust those locations are spared. The first days of the fires this week, the traffic had come to a complete halt on that same I15 freeway and I could well imagine the discomfort of those stuck out there.
That morning going out my front door looking north toward the mountains the sky was a brightly colored blue. Then, as I drove southward in my car, I noticed the sky had an ever so slight tannish color, much like the sky I remembered when we lived in Arizona and a dust storm was headed our way. Here in California the next morning when I left the house the northern sky remained blue as before, but the southern sky was a darker brown. The following morning, the northern sky was blue as usual, but the southern sky a darker dirty-looking brown. My voice became raspy walking a short distance from a parking lot to inside my building destination. In the afternoon, as I walked north toward my car I saw only a brownish glaze over the once blue sky as far as my eye could see in any direction. I wonder what this next day's sky will be?
Another less recent memory was four years ago when we had driven to San Diego and were grateful to have had reservations to spend the night there, when news revealed fires had arisen in the area. The flames were moving rapidly, until at one point the TV announcement was made that all routes in and out of the City were closed due to fires. We ventured to dinner at the motel's restaurant, but after returning to our room, stayed inside as cautioned, due to the the smoke-filled unhealthy air, especially debilitating for those with respiratory problems as my husband experienced. Shortly, we were startled to hear named on TV our home city in the northeast corner of Los Angeles County, accompanied by horrifying pictures of destructive fires, houses burning. Our home was not endangered, though I phoned a local friend just for reassurance. We were subjected to restricted exit routes driving home from San Diego the next day, passing burned-out blackened areas along both roadsides. We encountered a driveway full of ashes, spread about like snow, when we arrived home.
As I write this, news media focuses audio and video on mountains east of us where fires are raging in the San Bernardino County area which is -- was ? -- the location of a mountain cabin owned by a relative of dear family friends. This cabin was available to individual family group relatives to provide an opportunity for their togetherness. I felt honored to be allowed to stay there. The cabin was spared during a severe fire in the Running Springs area a few years ago, but family members think it is highly unlikely a similar survival has occurred this time. How grateful we can all be that no family members were present there, so no lives were at risk. Another nearby mountain community, called Lake Arrowhead, has experienced the loss of several hundred homes, many likely the residences of elders, but at least their lives were spared.
Then, there's a popular resort area called Big Bear that's battling fires and is the residence of a friend's sister. I haven't heard about the nearby Idyllwild community with homes scattered through a wooded area that's home to more hummingbirds than I've every seen in one location other than the San Diego Zoo bird sanctuary. I wonder what has happened to those delicate little birds up in those mountain areas? Perhaps they had gone south. Last year, I sold my husband's station wagon to a gentleman who told me they had a second home there and he planned to take it up there to be housed in a garage, especially through the winters. I think he and his wife are safe, but I find it strange that I wonder about the welfare of that vehicle, but I do.
Rehabilitation facilities such as where I provide services are receiving inquiries as to how many beds they have available. Whether or not they will actually need to be utilized is presently unknown. How that may impact the amount of time I will need to make available remains to be seen. I'm just glad my earlier medical issues which side-lined me those weeks beginning around the end of August are resolved and I'm back at work.
Almost everyone I've encountered, old and new acquaintances, neighbors, co-workers, friends, has had reason for concern about these fires. For some the issue was whether or not they could drive home after work. For others, their anxiety has been about their friends and family, or they have related stories that someone they knew had probably lost their home. At least, so far, no one I have encountered has had to experience anything beyond material loss, but that is heart-breaking, too. I feel sadness for them. My heart goes out to all who have experienced loss, including those professional workers, but especially to those injured or who have lost loved ones. The fires are not yet contained, so we don't know what may lie ahead with the capricious winds. You can be updated on the most current reports through your local media and a multitude of computer news sites.
But my thoughts are continuing to be pre-occupied with the devastating Southern California fires. I am so familiar with many of these areas that are being ravaged. Irvine was subjected to loss, though not the Amphitheatre where I enjoyed summer concerts about which I wrote here in earlier posts. The news mention of almost every Southern California community affected by fire arouses recent or past memories of just driving through there, sometimes of time spent there, often when my husband was still living, or my children younger.
Only a few weeks ago I travelled on Interstate 15 to a class at the Escondido hospital in San Diego County, near where my long favorite Bates Brothers Nut Farm is located. Some years ago our children walked through the pumpkin patch, each finally choosing and picking their own Halloween pumpkin. Another favorite site of ours there is the nearby San Diego Zoo Wild Animal Park. Hills all around Escondido are covered with avocado trees. I've heard no news reports to the contrary so trust those locations are spared. The first days of the fires this week, the traffic had come to a complete halt on that same I15 freeway and I could well imagine the discomfort of those stuck out there.
That morning going out my front door looking north toward the mountains the sky was a brightly colored blue. Then, as I drove southward in my car, I noticed the sky had an ever so slight tannish color, much like the sky I remembered when we lived in Arizona and a dust storm was headed our way. Here in California the next morning when I left the house the northern sky remained blue as before, but the southern sky was a darker brown. The following morning, the northern sky was blue as usual, but the southern sky a darker dirty-looking brown. My voice became raspy walking a short distance from a parking lot to inside my building destination. In the afternoon, as I walked north toward my car I saw only a brownish glaze over the once blue sky as far as my eye could see in any direction. I wonder what this next day's sky will be?
Another less recent memory was four years ago when we had driven to San Diego and were grateful to have had reservations to spend the night there, when news revealed fires had arisen in the area. The flames were moving rapidly, until at one point the TV announcement was made that all routes in and out of the City were closed due to fires. We ventured to dinner at the motel's restaurant, but after returning to our room, stayed inside as cautioned, due to the the smoke-filled unhealthy air, especially debilitating for those with respiratory problems as my husband experienced. Shortly, we were startled to hear named on TV our home city in the northeast corner of Los Angeles County, accompanied by horrifying pictures of destructive fires, houses burning. Our home was not endangered, though I phoned a local friend just for reassurance. We were subjected to restricted exit routes driving home from San Diego the next day, passing burned-out blackened areas along both roadsides. We encountered a driveway full of ashes, spread about like snow, when we arrived home.
As I write this, news media focuses audio and video on mountains east of us where fires are raging in the San Bernardino County area which is -- was ? -- the location of a mountain cabin owned by a relative of dear family friends. This cabin was available to individual family group relatives to provide an opportunity for their togetherness. I felt honored to be allowed to stay there. The cabin was spared during a severe fire in the Running Springs area a few years ago, but family members think it is highly unlikely a similar survival has occurred this time. How grateful we can all be that no family members were present there, so no lives were at risk. Another nearby mountain community, called Lake Arrowhead, has experienced the loss of several hundred homes, many likely the residences of elders, but at least their lives were spared.
Then, there's a popular resort area called Big Bear that's battling fires and is the residence of a friend's sister. I haven't heard about the nearby Idyllwild community with homes scattered through a wooded area that's home to more hummingbirds than I've every seen in one location other than the San Diego Zoo bird sanctuary. I wonder what has happened to those delicate little birds up in those mountain areas? Perhaps they had gone south. Last year, I sold my husband's station wagon to a gentleman who told me they had a second home there and he planned to take it up there to be housed in a garage, especially through the winters. I think he and his wife are safe, but I find it strange that I wonder about the welfare of that vehicle, but I do.
Rehabilitation facilities such as where I provide services are receiving inquiries as to how many beds they have available. Whether or not they will actually need to be utilized is presently unknown. How that may impact the amount of time I will need to make available remains to be seen. I'm just glad my earlier medical issues which side-lined me those weeks beginning around the end of August are resolved and I'm back at work.
Almost everyone I've encountered, old and new acquaintances, neighbors, co-workers, friends, has had reason for concern about these fires. For some the issue was whether or not they could drive home after work. For others, their anxiety has been about their friends and family, or they have related stories that someone they knew had probably lost their home. At least, so far, no one I have encountered has had to experience anything beyond material loss, but that is heart-breaking, too. I feel sadness for them. My heart goes out to all who have experienced loss, including those professional workers, but especially to those injured or who have lost loved ones. The fires are not yet contained, so we don't know what may lie ahead with the capricious winds. You can be updated on the most current reports through your local media and a multitude of computer news sites.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
100 Years -- Who? Me?
People over 100 years of age seem to be gradually increasing in number as our world's population ages. While I have more than a quarter of a century to go, I wonder, will I reach that centennial marker? Will I be healthy? How will my body continue to change in these years ahead? I've been physically changing all my life, so change is nothing new. What degree of mental changes, if any, will I experience? These are exciting interesting years, just as all my earlier ones have been. I expect these years to come to be the same -- exciting and interesting -- always in differing and unique ways.
Some information on aging issues recently came to my attention which I believe others may find of interest, too. The Los Angeles Times October 15, 2007 Health section has a "Special Issue: Aging Well" covering a variety of topics. One such article, "100 or older? There's a pattern" by Elena Conis, examines getting older around the world. Read this article by scrolling down to that title at the above link.
Some information on aging issues recently came to my attention which I believe others may find of interest, too. The Los Angeles Times October 15, 2007 Health section has a "Special Issue: Aging Well" covering a variety of topics. One such article, "100 or older? There's a pattern" by Elena Conis, examines getting older around the world. Read this article by scrolling down to that title at the above link.
Friday, October 19, 2007
HAPPY 108TH BIRTHDAY, OLIVE !
Three Centuries of Living
(Added U.S.A. 10/20/07)
Krystyna: Even though it's the 21st in Australia, it's still the 20th in the U.S.A., so we can keep celebrating Olive's birthday here. Just happens to be my birthday, too, so I can continue celebrating for her as well as myself. Coincidentally, my mother was born the same year as Olive in 1899. Boggles my mind when I stop to think these ladies lived in the nineteenth century AND twentieth century AND NOW Olive is living in the twenty-first century! We can all only hope we continue to have as much fun as she appears to be having as we travel through these elder years. I'll bet Olive will even appreciate belated birthday wishes.
OCTOBER 20th 2007
Birthday Greetings to you, Olive --
Congratulations on being the oldest blogger.
***Visit Olive in Australia through the magic of Internet blogging and wish her a happy birthday at "The Life of Riley."
My special message to Olive:
Olive, I've been enjoying reading your stories, seeing your pictures, soon after your first blog, or "blob" post, as you say. Thanks to your helper, Mike, for assisting you with creating such an interesting blog.
Your blog and DVD has been an additional inspiration for at least one Los Angeles area, California, USA, retirement community skilled nursing facility. Some individuals are temporarily there for rehabilitation and may leave for a higher level of care such as Assisted Living, or to Independent Living in the retirement community. Some return to their own homes. Others remain as permanent residents. All the individuals are usually Elders - age 50 years to 100, or older. One particular facility is preparing to explore providing a blogging opportunity for residents. Many will need a helper as you have.
There have been many smiles on the faces of residents who have seen your DVD movie. The movie will continue to be shared with other local groups.
I'll look forward to future accounts of your experiences, observations on life.
I wish you many more birthdays and posts to your "blob."
(Added U.S.A. 10/20/07)
Krystyna: Even though it's the 21st in Australia, it's still the 20th in the U.S.A., so we can keep celebrating Olive's birthday here. Just happens to be my birthday, too, so I can continue celebrating for her as well as myself. Coincidentally, my mother was born the same year as Olive in 1899. Boggles my mind when I stop to think these ladies lived in the nineteenth century AND twentieth century AND NOW Olive is living in the twenty-first century! We can all only hope we continue to have as much fun as she appears to be having as we travel through these elder years. I'll bet Olive will even appreciate belated birthday wishes.
OCTOBER 20th 2007
Birthday Greetings to you, Olive --
Congratulations on being the oldest blogger.
***Visit Olive in Australia through the magic of Internet blogging and wish her a happy birthday at "The Life of Riley."
My special message to Olive:
Olive, I've been enjoying reading your stories, seeing your pictures, soon after your first blog, or "blob" post, as you say. Thanks to your helper, Mike, for assisting you with creating such an interesting blog.
Your blog and DVD has been an additional inspiration for at least one Los Angeles area, California, USA, retirement community skilled nursing facility. Some individuals are temporarily there for rehabilitation and may leave for a higher level of care such as Assisted Living, or to Independent Living in the retirement community. Some return to their own homes. Others remain as permanent residents. All the individuals are usually Elders - age 50 years to 100, or older. One particular facility is preparing to explore providing a blogging opportunity for residents. Many will need a helper as you have.
There have been many smiles on the faces of residents who have seen your DVD movie. The movie will continue to be shared with other local groups.
I'll look forward to future accounts of your experiences, observations on life.
I wish you many more birthdays and posts to your "blob."
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Blogging Wisdom and Movie Moments
I believe the wisdom of aging allows for indulging some personal needs and whims. That attitude has informed a change in my approach to blogging for the past month or so. Sitting at my desk top hasn't been particularly pleasurable, so I've chosen to spend little time exerting much effort at my keyboard daily. I've been focusing on some personal medical health needs, now mostly resolved, other matters, and placed even my part-time work on hold. I have, however, pondered thoughts and some memories of my favorite season, autumn, including Indian Summer, becoming the subject of several short posts. So it is that I have been catering to myself to the exclusion of some blogging activities. I find I like this current approach and will likely do more of the same in the future.
Movie DVDs have recently provided a pleasurable respite to an unexpected degree. I selected the films with little knowledge of their content. I had seen no trailers, or been exposed to other promotional materials about these movies. I was not influenced by movies based on a specific book, having long ago learned that any resemblance between a book I had enjoyed reading and a movie by the same title was all too often purely coincidental. In fact, using that criteria for a film's selection could be disappointing.
Generally, I attend to the directors, actors and select movie collections i.e. Criterion when I consider movies for viewing, especially if they are known to be selective about the projects with which they associate themselves. Often, films nominated for various film festival awards can also be potential candidates attracting my consideration.
One such movie I selected from The Criterion Collection is titled "Dead Ringers" starring actors, Jeremy Irons and Genevieve Bujold whose talents I appreciate. Irons plays both rolls of identical twin gynecologists known for their innovative treatments who operate an exclusive clinic. This psychological medical drama thriller is purported in the New York Times review by Janet Maslin to be a "loosely fact-based tale...the film's most disturbing moments coming mostly through suggestion."
I find "suggestion" a much more powerful stimulate for my feelings than most literal special effects film creations. Director David Cronenberg's movie certainly impacted me beyond expectation in that regard. I think I was likely overly-sensitive for at least two reasons. One had to do with the movie's medical anatomical focus and visual effects. The other reason was due to a real life experience I had as a pre-teen. In the latter instance, I and others, independent of each other, were subjected to dental treatment from a dentist later determined to have been descending into psychological madness for which he was eventually institutionalized.
This movie is an intriguing idea likely appealing to many of stronger fortitude than I. The shower scene in "Psycho" haunted me for many years, partly due to the scene's music. Selected visual scenes in "Dead Ringers" could readily surpass my reaction to that shower scene -- but I looked away.
I'll recap a few other movies later that I find to be much more pleasing visually, psychologically satisfying, and emotionally gratifying. They portray more frequent realistic life experiences with which we can all identify or, at least, recognize.
Movie DVDs have recently provided a pleasurable respite to an unexpected degree. I selected the films with little knowledge of their content. I had seen no trailers, or been exposed to other promotional materials about these movies. I was not influenced by movies based on a specific book, having long ago learned that any resemblance between a book I had enjoyed reading and a movie by the same title was all too often purely coincidental. In fact, using that criteria for a film's selection could be disappointing.
Generally, I attend to the directors, actors and select movie collections i.e. Criterion when I consider movies for viewing, especially if they are known to be selective about the projects with which they associate themselves. Often, films nominated for various film festival awards can also be potential candidates attracting my consideration.
One such movie I selected from The Criterion Collection is titled "Dead Ringers" starring actors, Jeremy Irons and Genevieve Bujold whose talents I appreciate. Irons plays both rolls of identical twin gynecologists known for their innovative treatments who operate an exclusive clinic. This psychological medical drama thriller is purported in the New York Times review by Janet Maslin to be a "loosely fact-based tale...the film's most disturbing moments coming mostly through suggestion."
I find "suggestion" a much more powerful stimulate for my feelings than most literal special effects film creations. Director David Cronenberg's movie certainly impacted me beyond expectation in that regard. I think I was likely overly-sensitive for at least two reasons. One had to do with the movie's medical anatomical focus and visual effects. The other reason was due to a real life experience I had as a pre-teen. In the latter instance, I and others, independent of each other, were subjected to dental treatment from a dentist later determined to have been descending into psychological madness for which he was eventually institutionalized.
This movie is an intriguing idea likely appealing to many of stronger fortitude than I. The shower scene in "Psycho" haunted me for many years, partly due to the scene's music. Selected visual scenes in "Dead Ringers" could readily surpass my reaction to that shower scene -- but I looked away.
I'll recap a few other movies later that I find to be much more pleasing visually, psychologically satisfying, and emotionally gratifying. They portray more frequent realistic life experiences with which we can all identify or, at least, recognize.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Indian Summer Suspense
Autumn season holds suspense for me each year as I look forward to the possibiity an Indian Summer might just materialize. I don't know if some lucky area will experience this unique seasonal event this year, or not. Those years when weather condidtions are such this special period of days occurs where I happen to be living, I find myself entranced for that brief time, almost as though my world has been encapsulated in a special dimension where summer seems to suddenly re-emerge when least expected.
Indian Summer is unpredictable yearly, but most likely to occur after a first frost's sudden sharp cold snap, as temperatures begin to dip toward the freezing weather colder climates experience. Just as I anticipate the onset of increasingly colder days and nights, I am suddenly offered this reprieve and reminder of these unexpected warmer days.
This unique time of year referred to as Indian Summer has been the focus of music and memories for many through the years. Those who appreciate the vocal abilities of harmonizing groups value the talent of those who independently blended their voices in the days before technology did it all for them. The Four Freshmen is one of several such favorite groups of mine. I had the good fortune to see them in performance and meet them at the peak of their popularity. You may listen to their rendition of "Indian Summer" HERE
(scroll down to the third featured album.)
"Summer, you old Indian Summer...."
Indian Summer is unpredictable yearly, but most likely to occur after a first frost's sudden sharp cold snap, as temperatures begin to dip toward the freezing weather colder climates experience. Just as I anticipate the onset of increasingly colder days and nights, I am suddenly offered this reprieve and reminder of these unexpected warmer days.
This unique time of year referred to as Indian Summer has been the focus of music and memories for many through the years. Those who appreciate the vocal abilities of harmonizing groups value the talent of those who independently blended their voices in the days before technology did it all for them. The Four Freshmen is one of several such favorite groups of mine. I had the good fortune to see them in performance and meet them at the peak of their popularity. You may listen to their rendition of "Indian Summer" HERE
(scroll down to the third featured album.)
"Summer, you old Indian Summer...."
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Fall Season
Today begins the Fall 2007 season, one of my favorite times of the year. A song that often comes to mind is "September Song," one many musical artists have performed, but as he aged, I think the rendition sung by Frank Sinatra became especially poignant including lyrics:
"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game"
I've always been fascinated with the bright vivid changing colors of the leaves I recall from my youthful years in the midwest. I remember raking fall leaves, making a huge pile in the back yard, then running and jumping in them. We could even build a bonfire with them in a large old circular oil drum once our playing finished and thoughts of food prevailed. Those days preceeded the awareness of environmental issues so prevalent and of concern today. We whittled small stick branches to a sharp point on one end, on which we impaled hot dogs and marshmallows to create our desired treat and satisfy our hunger.
Years later as as a young adult I fondly recall a fall traveling in the northeastern states well known for the most spectacular of all seasonal colors. The U. S. Department of Agriculture Forest Service provides some reference dates for viewing fall colors in various parts of our country for all who might seek such pleasure.
"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game"
I've always been fascinated with the bright vivid changing colors of the leaves I recall from my youthful years in the midwest. I remember raking fall leaves, making a huge pile in the back yard, then running and jumping in them. We could even build a bonfire with them in a large old circular oil drum once our playing finished and thoughts of food prevailed. Those days preceeded the awareness of environmental issues so prevalent and of concern today. We whittled small stick branches to a sharp point on one end, on which we impaled hot dogs and marshmallows to create our desired treat and satisfy our hunger.
Years later as as a young adult I fondly recall a fall traveling in the northeastern states well known for the most spectacular of all seasonal colors. The U. S. Department of Agriculture Forest Service provides some reference dates for viewing fall colors in various parts of our country for all who might seek such pleasure.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Pleasure Fulfilled
There is a never-ending unwritten list in the back of my mind of small pleasures I look forward to experiencing. One such item on my list is highlighted below. I expect many of you have your own uniquely appealing list.
BOOM ! ! !
The cannon roared unexpectedly drawing our eyes skyward. A gigantic frothy grayish smoke ring slowly moved higher in the night’s moon lit sky toward cloud layers in the atmosphere before fading from view. The amphitheatre crowd cheered. The one hundred person Pacific Symphony Orchestra continued bombarding us with the increasing tempo and volume of Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture." Mesmerizing sound punctuated violent musical crescendos as though the sky was quickly embracing this offering to the gods and goddesses of sensual pleasure. Then there was a sky splitting crackling sound simultaneous with the explosions of sparkling colors including red, silver, gold fireworks shooting upward like rockets, then spreading across the sky in a long sequence of firings. The residual flaming sparks gradually dimmed, faded from sight, then suddenly a second cannon BOOM followed by the appearance of another smoke ring, soon drifting off in search of its predecessor. Another long-desired pleasure fulfilled for this witness to the end of summer’s amphitheatre concerts.
BOOM ! ! !
The cannon roared unexpectedly drawing our eyes skyward. A gigantic frothy grayish smoke ring slowly moved higher in the night’s moon lit sky toward cloud layers in the atmosphere before fading from view. The amphitheatre crowd cheered. The one hundred person Pacific Symphony Orchestra continued bombarding us with the increasing tempo and volume of Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture." Mesmerizing sound punctuated violent musical crescendos as though the sky was quickly embracing this offering to the gods and goddesses of sensual pleasure. Then there was a sky splitting crackling sound simultaneous with the explosions of sparkling colors including red, silver, gold fireworks shooting upward like rockets, then spreading across the sky in a long sequence of firings. The residual flaming sparks gradually dimmed, faded from sight, then suddenly a second cannon BOOM followed by the appearance of another smoke ring, soon drifting off in search of its predecessor. Another long-desired pleasure fulfilled for this witness to the end of summer’s amphitheatre concerts.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Pleasure Triumps Over Tribulation
I'll likely be spending another weekend out of town with friends soon. We usually have a rollicking good time laughing at the most ridiculous events. For example, one weekend we had a bit of a ticket crisis for a concert we were to attend that night. The tickets were not where my friend expected them to be in her incoming mail basket. She had looked for them earlier, but couldn't find them. After I arrived, while we were chatting, she resumed her ticket search. She unsuccessfully leafed through the contents of that basket a second time, reporting, "Here's the envelope -- but there are no tickets inside." She wondered, "Do you suppose they never sent the tickets?" I volunteered I thought I recalled her telling me in a phone conversation she had received them.
She carefully looked through opened letters just one more time, "Ah!" she held up tickets, "Here they are! Oh, wait a minute, these are tickets for plays we're going to this fall." She paused, "Do you suppose when these tickets came, I mistakenly thought they were the concert tickets?" She hastiliy added, "Oh, I don't think I would have done that -- on the other hand..." Having found an envelope in which she thought the tickets had come, my friend was confident she would readily find them just mixed in with some other letters and papers she could look through later, so we relaxed to talk some more.
Her husband shortly joined us, having earlier turned on the grill in preparation for the casual relaxed unhurried dinner we planned before we left. My friend made another quick, but unsuccessful check for the tickets, as she reported, "I'm sure I remember seeing them when they arrived in the mail weeks ago." She was quite exasperated by now, and decided to elicit her husband's magical ticket locating powers. He took on this challenging task with the self-assurance of someone who knew one of his primary reasons for being in life was to solve problems -- especially his wife's. He confidently initiated the ticket search as the grill continued heating while he looked through the in-basket's contents.
Shortly, he said, "What time is it now?" When he was told, he became even more concentrated on his searching efforts. He began sifting through the same papers, looking in those envelopes again, in a slightly more frantic mode, accompanied by an escalating rapid sequence of hand movements and sorting, sprinkled with, "Should we keep this?," or "Why are we keeping this?" and later, "Can't we throw this away?" Then, "No, we better keep this." Across the room his wife said, "I'll check this junk drawer, just in case, though I'm sure I wouldn't have put them here." But no tickets there. "Well, there is one other drawer that's a possibility, though I really don't think they're there." And, they weren't!
One of them suggested the tickets had probably slipped down behind the cabinet where the in-basket resided. After all, they both agreed, the basket was pretty full and they really did need to take care of all those papers. The basket didn't look that full to me, and didn't even seem to be spilling out over the top, but it was fairly deep. In order to access the area behind the cabinet, he removed a couple wine bottles from a shelf and set them on the table. We laughingly discussed that perhaps we should just open the wine and forget about the tickets, when examination revealed no tickets or even any papers had fallen out of the in-basket to slip down behind the cabinet.
Voices began to assume a slightly tense anxious quality when another time check revealed we should have started eating dinner earlier and were now behind schedule. A rush to the grill; soon salmon, hastily prepared salad, corn on the cob, and other food ultimately made it to the table. The previously intended lengthy relaxed dinner hour became one of "eat as fast as you can so we can get out of here." I proved to be the slowest of all at this task and the next thing I knew my plate was removed from in front of me the split second my fork raised the last bite a fraction of an inch off the plate's surface.
We marveled at this newly created genteel social custom of table clearing, and my host laughingly wondered if he had jeopardized how I would now view their warm hospitality. Of course, I hastened to assure him "It won't have an adverse effect at all, other than I won't be visiting you any more, or if I do come, I certainly won't be eating with you." Then, I observed, "Or is that what you were angling for all along?" I didn't even give him time to respond and quickly retracted my declaration. They weren't going to get rid of me that easily. We were all laughing so hard at this turn of events, it's a wonder I didn't choke on that last bite of food and need the Heimlich Maneuver.
Earlier there had been some discussion about whether or not we should even bother driving into the amphitheatre traffic congestion, since we were behind schedule, and probably wouldn't be able to attend the concert anyway. My friend said, "We can't phone the amphitheatre 'cause the tickets all come from somewhere else and that office isn't open now. I don't think they're equipped to replace tickets at the theatre, either." She paused, then said, "Well, if we go and try to explain at the amphitheatre ticket office, they probably won't believe our story, much less let us in." As an after thought she laughingly commented, "Maybe we should just not even bother to go." We all agreed those unopened bottles of wine that hadn't been put back on their shelf were starting to look more and more attractive in preference to the traffic jam we anticipated, and the likelihood we might not even be able to enter the amphitheatre anyway.
Still it was not in the nature of any of us to give in too easily on this venture. Surely we could believably plead our cause and succeed where others with lesser drive might give up much too readily. The driving force within us dictated that we must at least try, despite the hardship we might endure. We must risk learning the outcome by going there. Besides, those wine bottles would be awaiting us, if we had to return home in abject defeat.
We continued laughing incredulously at our situation, as someone said, "Oh, what the heck, we can park in the lot and maybe hear the concert from the car." The Problem Solver said, "Look, once we get through that bottleneck heavy traffic to get into the parking lot, you drive me up close to the entrance, and I'll get out. I'll walk up to the ticket office and see what I can do about getting us in. Maybe I can buy some more tickets if I have to, and they're not sold out." He then directed her, "You quickly find the closest parking spot you can, stay in the car, then watch for me. I'll come back and signal you with a wave if we have tickets. If I don't wave, come and pick me up as that will mean, 'no tickets' and we can't get seats."
During this conversation, we were hurriedly darting about, as some of us were busy making a last minute pit stop, then gathering our jackets for needed warmth from the cooling ocean breezes that would flow in later in the evening, if we were lucky enough to get into the amphitheatre. We were well past our designated departure time by now. I'm feeling quite non-plussed by all this hoopla, and share that "I'm really not stressed out by this turn of events at all. My attitude is, this is just another little blip in life and we'll either hear the concert or we won't." So, we left on our mission, encountered traffic even worse than we had imagined. When we turned into the amphitheatre, we were forced to play auto chicken with all the other latecomers being funnelled from four or five driving lanes into two.
The stars must have been aligned in our favor though, as we were admitted to the concert with little or no difficulty. The remainder of the evening was delightfully enjoyable listening to the marvelous performance of the Pacific Symphony Orchestra. conducted by Carl St. Clair. The Shelly Berg Trio was featured; jazz samples can be heard on the link. I so enjoyed the music that I probably should write about the experience. But, the concert did come to an end and off we walked to our car. We did have to play auto chicken again driving out of the parking lot, then funnelling into too few lanes.
Several days later, my friend phoned me that her ticket source was going to send her replacement tickets for future concerts we planned to attend together. Furthermore, she said, after talking with that office, indications now are that she never received the tickets in the first place. I don't know what the implications of that turn of events are for my friend, so I assured her not to worry about it, as probably all it means is that she's losing her mind -- again. She's been pulling bizarre acts like that since I first knew her some thirty years ago. Of course, I've exhibited my share of them, too, but no point in mentioning that now. I'm sure I'll give her reason to once again question my sanity, any day.
I must say, the next concert experience for which I joined my friends seemed deadly calm by comparison to that previous one. We left really early, missed a lot of traffic, took along quite tasty prepared sandwiches we ate there, shared fruit. All but the designated driver sipped champagne. We even had a good parking spot, and avoided much of the exit traffic jam. Personally, I felt a little nostalgia for the excitement, uncertainty and chaos of that previous experience.
I can't help wondering if the fact I had a "whatever happens, happens" attitude of acceptance toward our ticket dilemma that first time, is a reflection of how I don't allow life's unexpected events to be quite as hand-wringingly distressing as they might have been in my younger days. Perhaps with aging, though I pursue all avenues to resolve any problems, I realize that if I'm unable, there are other pleasurable choices on which I can focus my attention. I wonder if others find that to be true for themselves, too?
She carefully looked through opened letters just one more time, "Ah!" she held up tickets, "Here they are! Oh, wait a minute, these are tickets for plays we're going to this fall." She paused, "Do you suppose when these tickets came, I mistakenly thought they were the concert tickets?" She hastiliy added, "Oh, I don't think I would have done that -- on the other hand..." Having found an envelope in which she thought the tickets had come, my friend was confident she would readily find them just mixed in with some other letters and papers she could look through later, so we relaxed to talk some more.
Her husband shortly joined us, having earlier turned on the grill in preparation for the casual relaxed unhurried dinner we planned before we left. My friend made another quick, but unsuccessful check for the tickets, as she reported, "I'm sure I remember seeing them when they arrived in the mail weeks ago." She was quite exasperated by now, and decided to elicit her husband's magical ticket locating powers. He took on this challenging task with the self-assurance of someone who knew one of his primary reasons for being in life was to solve problems -- especially his wife's. He confidently initiated the ticket search as the grill continued heating while he looked through the in-basket's contents.
Shortly, he said, "What time is it now?" When he was told, he became even more concentrated on his searching efforts. He began sifting through the same papers, looking in those envelopes again, in a slightly more frantic mode, accompanied by an escalating rapid sequence of hand movements and sorting, sprinkled with, "Should we keep this?," or "Why are we keeping this?" and later, "Can't we throw this away?" Then, "No, we better keep this." Across the room his wife said, "I'll check this junk drawer, just in case, though I'm sure I wouldn't have put them here." But no tickets there. "Well, there is one other drawer that's a possibility, though I really don't think they're there." And, they weren't!
One of them suggested the tickets had probably slipped down behind the cabinet where the in-basket resided. After all, they both agreed, the basket was pretty full and they really did need to take care of all those papers. The basket didn't look that full to me, and didn't even seem to be spilling out over the top, but it was fairly deep. In order to access the area behind the cabinet, he removed a couple wine bottles from a shelf and set them on the table. We laughingly discussed that perhaps we should just open the wine and forget about the tickets, when examination revealed no tickets or even any papers had fallen out of the in-basket to slip down behind the cabinet.
Voices began to assume a slightly tense anxious quality when another time check revealed we should have started eating dinner earlier and were now behind schedule. A rush to the grill; soon salmon, hastily prepared salad, corn on the cob, and other food ultimately made it to the table. The previously intended lengthy relaxed dinner hour became one of "eat as fast as you can so we can get out of here." I proved to be the slowest of all at this task and the next thing I knew my plate was removed from in front of me the split second my fork raised the last bite a fraction of an inch off the plate's surface.
We marveled at this newly created genteel social custom of table clearing, and my host laughingly wondered if he had jeopardized how I would now view their warm hospitality. Of course, I hastened to assure him "It won't have an adverse effect at all, other than I won't be visiting you any more, or if I do come, I certainly won't be eating with you." Then, I observed, "Or is that what you were angling for all along?" I didn't even give him time to respond and quickly retracted my declaration. They weren't going to get rid of me that easily. We were all laughing so hard at this turn of events, it's a wonder I didn't choke on that last bite of food and need the Heimlich Maneuver.
Earlier there had been some discussion about whether or not we should even bother driving into the amphitheatre traffic congestion, since we were behind schedule, and probably wouldn't be able to attend the concert anyway. My friend said, "We can't phone the amphitheatre 'cause the tickets all come from somewhere else and that office isn't open now. I don't think they're equipped to replace tickets at the theatre, either." She paused, then said, "Well, if we go and try to explain at the amphitheatre ticket office, they probably won't believe our story, much less let us in." As an after thought she laughingly commented, "Maybe we should just not even bother to go." We all agreed those unopened bottles of wine that hadn't been put back on their shelf were starting to look more and more attractive in preference to the traffic jam we anticipated, and the likelihood we might not even be able to enter the amphitheatre anyway.
Still it was not in the nature of any of us to give in too easily on this venture. Surely we could believably plead our cause and succeed where others with lesser drive might give up much too readily. The driving force within us dictated that we must at least try, despite the hardship we might endure. We must risk learning the outcome by going there. Besides, those wine bottles would be awaiting us, if we had to return home in abject defeat.
We continued laughing incredulously at our situation, as someone said, "Oh, what the heck, we can park in the lot and maybe hear the concert from the car." The Problem Solver said, "Look, once we get through that bottleneck heavy traffic to get into the parking lot, you drive me up close to the entrance, and I'll get out. I'll walk up to the ticket office and see what I can do about getting us in. Maybe I can buy some more tickets if I have to, and they're not sold out." He then directed her, "You quickly find the closest parking spot you can, stay in the car, then watch for me. I'll come back and signal you with a wave if we have tickets. If I don't wave, come and pick me up as that will mean, 'no tickets' and we can't get seats."
During this conversation, we were hurriedly darting about, as some of us were busy making a last minute pit stop, then gathering our jackets for needed warmth from the cooling ocean breezes that would flow in later in the evening, if we were lucky enough to get into the amphitheatre. We were well past our designated departure time by now. I'm feeling quite non-plussed by all this hoopla, and share that "I'm really not stressed out by this turn of events at all. My attitude is, this is just another little blip in life and we'll either hear the concert or we won't." So, we left on our mission, encountered traffic even worse than we had imagined. When we turned into the amphitheatre, we were forced to play auto chicken with all the other latecomers being funnelled from four or five driving lanes into two.
The stars must have been aligned in our favor though, as we were admitted to the concert with little or no difficulty. The remainder of the evening was delightfully enjoyable listening to the marvelous performance of the Pacific Symphony Orchestra. conducted by Carl St. Clair. The Shelly Berg Trio was featured; jazz samples can be heard on the link. I so enjoyed the music that I probably should write about the experience. But, the concert did come to an end and off we walked to our car. We did have to play auto chicken again driving out of the parking lot, then funnelling into too few lanes.
Several days later, my friend phoned me that her ticket source was going to send her replacement tickets for future concerts we planned to attend together. Furthermore, she said, after talking with that office, indications now are that she never received the tickets in the first place. I don't know what the implications of that turn of events are for my friend, so I assured her not to worry about it, as probably all it means is that she's losing her mind -- again. She's been pulling bizarre acts like that since I first knew her some thirty years ago. Of course, I've exhibited my share of them, too, but no point in mentioning that now. I'm sure I'll give her reason to once again question my sanity, any day.
I must say, the next concert experience for which I joined my friends seemed deadly calm by comparison to that previous one. We left really early, missed a lot of traffic, took along quite tasty prepared sandwiches we ate there, shared fruit. All but the designated driver sipped champagne. We even had a good parking spot, and avoided much of the exit traffic jam. Personally, I felt a little nostalgia for the excitement, uncertainty and chaos of that previous experience.
I can't help wondering if the fact I had a "whatever happens, happens" attitude of acceptance toward our ticket dilemma that first time, is a reflection of how I don't allow life's unexpected events to be quite as hand-wringingly distressing as they might have been in my younger days. Perhaps with aging, though I pursue all avenues to resolve any problems, I realize that if I'm unable, there are other pleasurable choices on which I can focus my attention. I wonder if others find that to be true for themselves, too?
Monday, September 03, 2007
Health Care Patient Rights
I remember only too well some years ago, when a friend phoned me in the wee hours of the morning, from her relatively new southeastern home across this continent from my Los Angeles area residence. She shared in great detail how one night earlier she couldn't sleep, that concern about breast cancer was on her mind, though she faithfully had regular mammograms and even had one quite recently. Still, she was uneasy, since ever-present fibroids made new lump detection difficult, plus there was a history of breast cancer in her family.
She related how she engaged in breast self-examination that night; described the uncertain but anxious feeling she experienced when she thought she had discovered a new lump. Finally, she woke her husband, whose examination of her breast was cautiously confirming that the lump did seem new. Subsequent medical consultations, examinations, tests, biopsies and all that entails, revealed she did, indeed, have a new lump; one her recent mammogram, and earlier ones, had failed to detect. Periodic phone calls from her kept me apprised of medical results, and then late one night, there was the dreaded call informing me of the unwanted malignancy diagnosis.
When we concluded that conversation, I thought of how we first met. We happened to move into neighborhood homes across the street from each other at about the same time. She came to my door to welcome me to the community, but as she soon confided, she was seeking someone she thought she could trust, with whom she could talk in confidence. She was having fibroid pain which raised breast cancer concerns in her mind.
During the years she lived in our town, another of her family members did develop breast cancer, which only served to heighten her self concerns. Twenty some years later, after having moved from our community, I received that late night phone call from her home in the southeast. I heard her pronouncement about herself, using a word I hoped I would never hear her speak, "malignant."
Ultimately, her breast had to be surgically removed and she went home with her husband to their relatively new residence. They did not have family in the state, but were gradually making friends in their new community. Their adult children resided on the opposite northwest coast from where my friends had moved.
We talked numerous times as she chose, using the three hour time difference for late calls west to me, to her advantage. Then, she phoned me again late one night, well into her battle against this ravaging disease. She described how she had to come home from the hospital with draining tubes protruding from her body, for which her husband was having to provide the care. She described feelings of distress, concern for his physical welfare due to the challenge of caring for her, despite some medical issues of his own.
I thought, for optimal gains during this time, she really needed to be thinking only about her own recovery, but not easy for her to do under the circumstances. I recall the sense of surprise and concern I felt that she had been sent home from a hospital setting still requiring all the care she described, not to mention the risks associated with possible infection.
Health care today, all too often, has workers other than the doctor and patient making medical care decisions. The insurer third party decision makers can be influenced more by financial considerations than what may be best for the patient. One medical problem that has aroused concern over just this issue is that of women who undergo breast removal surgery like my friend did.
My appreciation and thanks to DiAne Gillespie artist/musician who brought to my attention an important "Lifetime TV" article on the matter. A nurse's reality-based free verse emotional account of her thoughts and feelings associated with care of mastectomy patients is also printed there.
Reading the article, I am encouraged efforts are being made to address quality of care issues for women who have mastectomies, but our help is needed. We have an opportunity to sign a petition declaring a desire for bipartisan political support in passing Congressional legislation to benefit women who have mastectomies. The "Lifetime TV" article reports:
"In January 2007, Senators Olympia Snowe (R-ME) and Mary Landrieu (D-LA) and Representative Rosa L. DeLauro (D-CT) reintroduced the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S. 459/H.R.758). The bill would allow a woman and her doctor to decide whether she should recuperate for at least 48 hours in the hospital or whether she has enough support to get quality care at home following this emotionally and physically difficult surgery."
Last year Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Jewel was joined by "Lifetime TV" in delivering 12 million petition signatures to Congress supporting the bill. Now they have 5,000 more signatures. Additional signatures are requested from any of us who share the desire to let our Congress persons know we want this bill passed and signed by the President.
Women and the men who care for them can sign the petition
at this "Lifetime TV" link urging Congress to pass the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (Senate Bill 459/House of Representatives Bill 758) "...to ensure no more women are forced to experience a 'drive-through' mastectomy."
There are many worthy causes deserving of support. I won't always attempt to write about all of them, but this particular issue is of special significance to me.
As for my friend of strong character and courage, she participated in a medical research study at a highly respected hospital in her area. She entered the study with the expectation she would be one of the small minority, despite her high level stage of disease, to overcome her renegade cancer cells. In spite of chemo treatments, a bone marrow transplant, the strength she derived from her religious faith, her husband's, family and friends' support, supplemented by a local support team comprised of medical staff and others, she was unable to overcome the head start her cancer had in her lymph nodes before its detection.
She is another friend who has continued to be missed these years, just as far too many of us experience in our lifetimes and at any age.
She related how she engaged in breast self-examination that night; described the uncertain but anxious feeling she experienced when she thought she had discovered a new lump. Finally, she woke her husband, whose examination of her breast was cautiously confirming that the lump did seem new. Subsequent medical consultations, examinations, tests, biopsies and all that entails, revealed she did, indeed, have a new lump; one her recent mammogram, and earlier ones, had failed to detect. Periodic phone calls from her kept me apprised of medical results, and then late one night, there was the dreaded call informing me of the unwanted malignancy diagnosis.
When we concluded that conversation, I thought of how we first met. We happened to move into neighborhood homes across the street from each other at about the same time. She came to my door to welcome me to the community, but as she soon confided, she was seeking someone she thought she could trust, with whom she could talk in confidence. She was having fibroid pain which raised breast cancer concerns in her mind.
During the years she lived in our town, another of her family members did develop breast cancer, which only served to heighten her self concerns. Twenty some years later, after having moved from our community, I received that late night phone call from her home in the southeast. I heard her pronouncement about herself, using a word I hoped I would never hear her speak, "malignant."
Ultimately, her breast had to be surgically removed and she went home with her husband to their relatively new residence. They did not have family in the state, but were gradually making friends in their new community. Their adult children resided on the opposite northwest coast from where my friends had moved.
We talked numerous times as she chose, using the three hour time difference for late calls west to me, to her advantage. Then, she phoned me again late one night, well into her battle against this ravaging disease. She described how she had to come home from the hospital with draining tubes protruding from her body, for which her husband was having to provide the care. She described feelings of distress, concern for his physical welfare due to the challenge of caring for her, despite some medical issues of his own.
I thought, for optimal gains during this time, she really needed to be thinking only about her own recovery, but not easy for her to do under the circumstances. I recall the sense of surprise and concern I felt that she had been sent home from a hospital setting still requiring all the care she described, not to mention the risks associated with possible infection.
Health care today, all too often, has workers other than the doctor and patient making medical care decisions. The insurer third party decision makers can be influenced more by financial considerations than what may be best for the patient. One medical problem that has aroused concern over just this issue is that of women who undergo breast removal surgery like my friend did.
My appreciation and thanks to DiAne Gillespie artist/musician who brought to my attention an important "Lifetime TV" article on the matter. A nurse's reality-based free verse emotional account of her thoughts and feelings associated with care of mastectomy patients is also printed there.
Reading the article, I am encouraged efforts are being made to address quality of care issues for women who have mastectomies, but our help is needed. We have an opportunity to sign a petition declaring a desire for bipartisan political support in passing Congressional legislation to benefit women who have mastectomies. The "Lifetime TV" article reports:
"In January 2007, Senators Olympia Snowe (R-ME) and Mary Landrieu (D-LA) and Representative Rosa L. DeLauro (D-CT) reintroduced the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (S. 459/H.R.758). The bill would allow a woman and her doctor to decide whether she should recuperate for at least 48 hours in the hospital or whether she has enough support to get quality care at home following this emotionally and physically difficult surgery."
Last year Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Jewel was joined by "Lifetime TV" in delivering 12 million petition signatures to Congress supporting the bill. Now they have 5,000 more signatures. Additional signatures are requested from any of us who share the desire to let our Congress persons know we want this bill passed and signed by the President.
Women and the men who care for them can sign the petition
at this "Lifetime TV" link urging Congress to pass the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2007 (Senate Bill 459/House of Representatives Bill 758) "...to ensure no more women are forced to experience a 'drive-through' mastectomy."
There are many worthy causes deserving of support. I won't always attempt to write about all of them, but this particular issue is of special significance to me.
As for my friend of strong character and courage, she participated in a medical research study at a highly respected hospital in her area. She entered the study with the expectation she would be one of the small minority, despite her high level stage of disease, to overcome her renegade cancer cells. In spite of chemo treatments, a bone marrow transplant, the strength she derived from her religious faith, her husband's, family and friends' support, supplemented by a local support team comprised of medical staff and others, she was unable to overcome the head start her cancer had in her lymph nodes before its detection.
She is another friend who has continued to be missed these years, just as far too many of us experience in our lifetimes and at any age.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Vision & Hearing Needs
Resources -- Comment Responses
I recently received hearing impaired and vision request inquiries in comments on my post about the Gnomedex Conference 2007. (see "Gnomedex Proud Elder" 8/11/07.) That was the Seattle conference where Ronni Bennett of "Time Goes By" presented on the topic of Elderblogging. (See “An Elderblogger At Gnomedex”) She discussed with these technology professionals some of the special computer features that would benefit some of all ages, but especially many elders (50 yrs and older) and those with special needs.
She continues to champion special features integration into computer design for elder ease of use and simplicity. She also proposes an inexpensive computer be produced to expand the Internet world to all elders including those with limited financial resources.
CBS-TV “60 Minutes” recently followed up an earlier Lesley Stahl story about the $100 computer created by MIT’S Nicholas Negroponte which could well have application to elder needs as Ronni has suggested.
Meanwhile, I promised in my blog post that I would explore and post here further information on the hearing and vision comments made on what I wrote.
1. Darlene said here and at TGB:
"I am severely hearing impaired and I wish someone would convince the computer geeks at YouTube that we need closed captioning below the videos. I miss out on so many things like clips of the Daily Show{with Jon Stewart} and Bill Moyers Journal."
Darlene, I tried many approaches but was unable to find a way to forward your request to any of the YouTube Team. Perhaps others more technological knowledgeable than I will read this and be able to find an email address. I think it's quite likely Ronni Bennett will make note of your same comment made on TGB. She will likely be more successful in presenting your view to those who need to be aware.
2. Ruthe said:
"I have trouble reading your blog, which shows up as gray on white. Be kind to vision impaired elders like me and make the typeface larger and bolder."
Ruthe, as I mentioned in an earlier comment response to you, my technical skills and time to devote to learning how to make alterations from the norm on my blog through Blogger are limited presently. Perhaps the best option for you and others with similar low vision issues would be to use a screen magnifier that would enlarge ALL print on your computer screens, as most blogs seem to be written in normal typeface size. I know only too well from my mother’s visual needs and that of others with whom I’ve interacted, that often thick or heavier black lines contrasted against a white background are needed to facilitate visual perception for many individuals.
Following are some links I was able to obtain through Google search that provide information and/or products of interest to individuals with visual limitations. I have not personally used any of these links and products, nor have I had direct contact with anyone who has used them. They do appear to be worth a potential users investigation.
I am aware there has been increased vision emphasis in recent years with some Occupational Therapists (O.T.) providing low vision therapy. You might want to consider checking with your local hospital or rehabilitation hospital to see if such service is available in your community. Be certain to establish any vision therapists you engage have obtained special or continuing education and training for providing such visual deficit interventions.
In Southern California, Los Angeles County, where I live, whenever I receive inquiries about special vision needs and products, I provide referrals to their ophthalmologist and a local hospital whose O.T.’s do provide a low vision program. A primary referral source I provide is to the Braille Institute whose website states: "Braille Institute is a private non-profit organization whose mission is to eliminate blindness and severe sight loss as a barrier to a fulfilling life."
They have a large mobile van that regularly visits Southern California communities, often senior citizen meeting places, where individuals can seek the most current information about all vision issues. I suggest you check with your local ophthalmologists, senior groups, phone directory and Internet listings to see what is available in your area.
One Braille Institute service with which I am most familiar is Talking Books -- available throughout the United States, free to those legally blind or blind. I do have personal experience with this organization as my mother, legally blind, received the benefits of some of their services; was a user of audio Talking Books, first when they were records, then tapes. Today the books are on CDs. Certainly they are much more readily available from public libraries, for purchase, with Internet sources, too. Talking Books were a lifeline to the world for my mother for many years.
Following is a computer screen magnifier product I have read favorable comments about from some individuals who reportedly are satisfied users that you might want to consider: BigShot Magnifier"This low-cost, easy-to-use magnification program allows you to fine tune the screen for more comfortable viewing. With 20 levels of magnification from 100 to 200 percent, BigShot allows you to focus on your work without straining to see the screen. Price $99."
Other links I located included:A listing of numerous links to U.S. Internet Resources - Low Vision; UAB Lister Hill Library of the Health Sciences; Association of Vision Science Librarians
"The Low Vision Gateway to the Internet is your starting point to the world's resources to vision loss, vision impairment, blindness, low vision aids and low vision rehabilitation services."
Vision Aware - Self Help for Vision Loss
The Low Vision Store.com
Vision Related Websites:
"Untangling The Web" WVU
”Resources on Visual Disability
“Resources in this category are primarily targeted to software and devices to assist people with visual disabilities to operate computers.”
Access Dome
"For People Working to Make the Web Accessible"
"We are a Global Community dedicated to individuals seeking or offering products, services, information, and participation in ensuring that the Web is accessible to people with disabilities, including people who are vision impaired or have hearing disabilities, physical disabilities, cognitive, and neurological disabilities.”
American Foundation for the Blind (AFB)is a significant information source reporting: "Low vision can result from specific eye conditions, such as cataracts, macular degeneration, glaucoma, and diabetic retinopathy, or from a stroke." This AFB site also clearly describes the differences between cataracts, macular degeneration and glaucoma.
There are many more resources on the Internet for those who wish to conduct further research. No doubt others may be able to provide additional information on these topics.
I recently received hearing impaired and vision request inquiries in comments on my post about the Gnomedex Conference 2007. (see "Gnomedex Proud Elder" 8/11/07.) That was the Seattle conference where Ronni Bennett of "Time Goes By" presented on the topic of Elderblogging. (See “An Elderblogger At Gnomedex”) She discussed with these technology professionals some of the special computer features that would benefit some of all ages, but especially many elders (50 yrs and older) and those with special needs.
She continues to champion special features integration into computer design for elder ease of use and simplicity. She also proposes an inexpensive computer be produced to expand the Internet world to all elders including those with limited financial resources.
CBS-TV “60 Minutes” recently followed up an earlier Lesley Stahl story about the $100 computer created by MIT’S Nicholas Negroponte which could well have application to elder needs as Ronni has suggested.
Meanwhile, I promised in my blog post that I would explore and post here further information on the hearing and vision comments made on what I wrote.
1. Darlene said here and at TGB:
"I am severely hearing impaired and I wish someone would convince the computer geeks at YouTube that we need closed captioning below the videos. I miss out on so many things like clips of the Daily Show{with Jon Stewart} and Bill Moyers Journal."
Darlene, I tried many approaches but was unable to find a way to forward your request to any of the YouTube Team. Perhaps others more technological knowledgeable than I will read this and be able to find an email address. I think it's quite likely Ronni Bennett will make note of your same comment made on TGB. She will likely be more successful in presenting your view to those who need to be aware.
2. Ruthe said:
"I have trouble reading your blog, which shows up as gray on white. Be kind to vision impaired elders like me and make the typeface larger and bolder."
Ruthe, as I mentioned in an earlier comment response to you, my technical skills and time to devote to learning how to make alterations from the norm on my blog through Blogger are limited presently. Perhaps the best option for you and others with similar low vision issues would be to use a screen magnifier that would enlarge ALL print on your computer screens, as most blogs seem to be written in normal typeface size. I know only too well from my mother’s visual needs and that of others with whom I’ve interacted, that often thick or heavier black lines contrasted against a white background are needed to facilitate visual perception for many individuals.
Following are some links I was able to obtain through Google search that provide information and/or products of interest to individuals with visual limitations. I have not personally used any of these links and products, nor have I had direct contact with anyone who has used them. They do appear to be worth a potential users investigation.
I am aware there has been increased vision emphasis in recent years with some Occupational Therapists (O.T.) providing low vision therapy. You might want to consider checking with your local hospital or rehabilitation hospital to see if such service is available in your community. Be certain to establish any vision therapists you engage have obtained special or continuing education and training for providing such visual deficit interventions.
In Southern California, Los Angeles County, where I live, whenever I receive inquiries about special vision needs and products, I provide referrals to their ophthalmologist and a local hospital whose O.T.’s do provide a low vision program. A primary referral source I provide is to the Braille Institute whose website states: "Braille Institute is a private non-profit organization whose mission is to eliminate blindness and severe sight loss as a barrier to a fulfilling life."
They have a large mobile van that regularly visits Southern California communities, often senior citizen meeting places, where individuals can seek the most current information about all vision issues. I suggest you check with your local ophthalmologists, senior groups, phone directory and Internet listings to see what is available in your area.
One Braille Institute service with which I am most familiar is Talking Books -- available throughout the United States, free to those legally blind or blind. I do have personal experience with this organization as my mother, legally blind, received the benefits of some of their services; was a user of audio Talking Books, first when they were records, then tapes. Today the books are on CDs. Certainly they are much more readily available from public libraries, for purchase, with Internet sources, too. Talking Books were a lifeline to the world for my mother for many years.
Following is a computer screen magnifier product I have read favorable comments about from some individuals who reportedly are satisfied users that you might want to consider: BigShot Magnifier"This low-cost, easy-to-use magnification program allows you to fine tune the screen for more comfortable viewing. With 20 levels of magnification from 100 to 200 percent, BigShot allows you to focus on your work without straining to see the screen. Price $99."
Other links I located included:A listing of numerous links to U.S. Internet Resources - Low Vision; UAB Lister Hill Library of the Health Sciences; Association of Vision Science Librarians
"The Low Vision Gateway to the Internet is your starting point to the world's resources to vision loss, vision impairment, blindness, low vision aids and low vision rehabilitation services."
Vision Aware - Self Help for Vision Loss
The Low Vision Store.com
Vision Related Websites:
"Untangling The Web" WVU
”Resources on Visual Disability
“Resources in this category are primarily targeted to software and devices to assist people with visual disabilities to operate computers.”
Access Dome
"For People Working to Make the Web Accessible"
"We are a Global Community dedicated to individuals seeking or offering products, services, information, and participation in ensuring that the Web is accessible to people with disabilities, including people who are vision impaired or have hearing disabilities, physical disabilities, cognitive, and neurological disabilities.”
American Foundation for the Blind (AFB)is a significant information source reporting: "Low vision can result from specific eye conditions, such as cataracts, macular degeneration, glaucoma, and diabetic retinopathy, or from a stroke." This AFB site also clearly describes the differences between cataracts, macular degeneration and glaucoma.
There are many more resources on the Internet for those who wish to conduct further research. No doubt others may be able to provide additional information on these topics.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
King's History
(Sputter, sputter...I lost this post last night when my server connection ceased. Am having DSL or server problems almost every day, so appreciate readers' patience waiting for new posts.)
(oldoldlady, Naomi, at "Here In The Hills" asked why I had to give up my dog, King, as I described in my previous story, “Betrayal and Heartbreak,” so I am responding here.
BTW Naomi has been posting some fascinating color photos of multiple hummingbirds and bees in flight taking nourishment from some rare and unusual blooming cacti at her uniquely landscaped Hollywood Hills home. There are many interesting posts and photos at her blog. She’s a bit pre-occupied right now watching DVDs as she completes her voting for the Emmy Awards. She’s providing her readers with an opportunity to express their opinions on some nominees for later comparison with her own .)
KING'S HISTORY
I decided to elaborate on my dog story about King, since it was an unusual year in my young life. Our family then was composed of my folks and me. A couple of years earlier we had moved to the country which proved to be an isolating new experience for this city girl.
I had never lived in the country year 'round before, though I had always enjoyed visiting my grandmother at her rustic farm home for a week during several consecutive summers. My uncle lived across the road from grandma. He sometimes recruited me to assist with his dairy farming activities, often despite my grandmother's admonitions that he not ask me to do so, but that’s another story.
Talk of our moving began after only a couple of years residence in this country home. Pop was having an increasing number of medical problems including exacerbating breathing difficulties, all of which worsened in the cold climate where we lived. Doctors in those days often recommended to many patients with respiratory problems that they should move from the colder climes where we lived, to a sunnier drier climate. Pop's breathing and other medical problems continued worsening, so we joined those who moved to the desert. This was the impetus for my having to give up this young stock collie given to me as a pup to be "my dog."
Our house and acreage was sold to the real estate agent friend from whom we had purchased the place, and who had given me the puppy I named King. King was the son of this man's dog that had been trained for livestock herding. His dog was not utilized to work as much as the dog needed to do, so he was kept chained on the agent's big, generally unoccupied, farm. With the dog's herding activity limited, so was his human contact which was mostly with workers who regularly fed and watered him.
He broke his chain one day and got into a pen of young pigs weighing 150 to 250 pounds. For some strange reason he actually bit several of them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their haunches. The owner and workers concluded he did this simply because he was bored. I wondered if he may have tried to herd the pigs in their small pen just to feel useful. Perhaps with no humans present to control the situation, the pigs could have fearfully attacked the aggressive dog, so he fought back. He showed no other signs of being dangerous afterward, continued to be able to herd various animals safely when needed. When he was chained, however, if any chickens escaped their contained area and wandered within the length of his chain, he lay in wait and snuffed out their lives.
I had always petted and played with him whenever I visited the farm. After the pig incident, I was cautioned that I should be wary and probably should avoid him entirely. I had never met a dog, however unfriendly and vicious they were purported to be, that would not make friends with me. So in the confident fearless nature of youth, remembering my prior relationship with this dog, I always sought him out. I knew he was lonely, and so was I some of that time. I did, however, stay at the outer edge of his fully extended chain whenever I petted him, and I rough-housed with him much less. He never exhibited any aggressive behavior toward me. The dog was sometimes used for breeding purposes, so when his owner was offered a pup from a litter he had fathered, the owner then gave the pup to our family for me.
Pop had a snooty little part Toy Pomeranian that he had spoiled rotten for years and was the focus of his affection. This spayed female was a snotty, snippy little prima donna who returned his allegiance. She barely tolerated the rest of us. Before we moved to the country we had acquired a German Pomeranian as a pup to whom I had given my beloved teddy bear to be a companion when the puppy cried at night for his mother after he first came to live with us. He soon transferred his attention to my Mom who housebroke him, met his daily needs of food, water and caring. He did play with me and was affectionate, but despite Mom's efforts to redirect his primary emotional attachment to me, he clearly preferred her.
The folks made the decision we would take the two smaller dogs on our move west, Pop's pooch and the young dog we'd had since a pup before King. I was told the latter dog, now 2 or 3 years old, would be mine despite his having bonded to my Mom. Since we were selling everything, and would live in a small trailer we pulled behind the car, there was no room for the larger dog my King would soon become. He was not made to live in such confined quarters anyway. Presumably he was to be trained to herd livestock as had his father who I had befriended earlier.
We had a public auction and sold all of our personal belongings, other than those that would fit in that Trotwood Trailer
(Our trailer looked like this video only brand new so neat and trim -- no mattress in the back as that was a sofa that opened into a bed).
We had to part with some possessions in earlier moves and now again with even more. Pop had the Trotwood sawed in half and added some footage to make it a bit longer. The sofa at the back of the trailer made into a bed which would be used by my folks. The front end of the trailer had a breakfast nook that
could be collapsed and became a bed where I slept. The interior was compact with some closets, drawers and shelf space, a sink, a small refrigerator, a stove on which to cook, a furnace, but no other facilities.
I was sad and excited, with a range of emotions in between, at the prospect of this move. In my adult years, as I have reflected on events, such as this, I've often thought about how experiences beginning in childhood serve to influence my perspective and attitudes toward life. I chose to look upon those geographic moves as great adventures and they were for me. I continue, as then, to learn about accommodation and adjustment. Perhaps these were early learning experiences for me in adaptation, coping with loss, preparation for my future. My memories of those years linger on.
(oldoldlady, Naomi, at "Here In The Hills" asked why I had to give up my dog, King, as I described in my previous story, “Betrayal and Heartbreak,” so I am responding here.
BTW Naomi has been posting some fascinating color photos of multiple hummingbirds and bees in flight taking nourishment from some rare and unusual blooming cacti at her uniquely landscaped Hollywood Hills home. There are many interesting posts and photos at her blog. She’s a bit pre-occupied right now watching DVDs as she completes her voting for the Emmy Awards. She’s providing her readers with an opportunity to express their opinions on some nominees for later comparison with her own .)
KING'S HISTORY
I decided to elaborate on my dog story about King, since it was an unusual year in my young life. Our family then was composed of my folks and me. A couple of years earlier we had moved to the country which proved to be an isolating new experience for this city girl.
I had never lived in the country year 'round before, though I had always enjoyed visiting my grandmother at her rustic farm home for a week during several consecutive summers. My uncle lived across the road from grandma. He sometimes recruited me to assist with his dairy farming activities, often despite my grandmother's admonitions that he not ask me to do so, but that’s another story.
Talk of our moving began after only a couple of years residence in this country home. Pop was having an increasing number of medical problems including exacerbating breathing difficulties, all of which worsened in the cold climate where we lived. Doctors in those days often recommended to many patients with respiratory problems that they should move from the colder climes where we lived, to a sunnier drier climate. Pop's breathing and other medical problems continued worsening, so we joined those who moved to the desert. This was the impetus for my having to give up this young stock collie given to me as a pup to be "my dog."
Our house and acreage was sold to the real estate agent friend from whom we had purchased the place, and who had given me the puppy I named King. King was the son of this man's dog that had been trained for livestock herding. His dog was not utilized to work as much as the dog needed to do, so he was kept chained on the agent's big, generally unoccupied, farm. With the dog's herding activity limited, so was his human contact which was mostly with workers who regularly fed and watered him.
He broke his chain one day and got into a pen of young pigs weighing 150 to 250 pounds. For some strange reason he actually bit several of them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their haunches. The owner and workers concluded he did this simply because he was bored. I wondered if he may have tried to herd the pigs in their small pen just to feel useful. Perhaps with no humans present to control the situation, the pigs could have fearfully attacked the aggressive dog, so he fought back. He showed no other signs of being dangerous afterward, continued to be able to herd various animals safely when needed. When he was chained, however, if any chickens escaped their contained area and wandered within the length of his chain, he lay in wait and snuffed out their lives.
I had always petted and played with him whenever I visited the farm. After the pig incident, I was cautioned that I should be wary and probably should avoid him entirely. I had never met a dog, however unfriendly and vicious they were purported to be, that would not make friends with me. So in the confident fearless nature of youth, remembering my prior relationship with this dog, I always sought him out. I knew he was lonely, and so was I some of that time. I did, however, stay at the outer edge of his fully extended chain whenever I petted him, and I rough-housed with him much less. He never exhibited any aggressive behavior toward me. The dog was sometimes used for breeding purposes, so when his owner was offered a pup from a litter he had fathered, the owner then gave the pup to our family for me.
Pop had a snooty little part Toy Pomeranian that he had spoiled rotten for years and was the focus of his affection. This spayed female was a snotty, snippy little prima donna who returned his allegiance. She barely tolerated the rest of us. Before we moved to the country we had acquired a German Pomeranian as a pup to whom I had given my beloved teddy bear to be a companion when the puppy cried at night for his mother after he first came to live with us. He soon transferred his attention to my Mom who housebroke him, met his daily needs of food, water and caring. He did play with me and was affectionate, but despite Mom's efforts to redirect his primary emotional attachment to me, he clearly preferred her.
The folks made the decision we would take the two smaller dogs on our move west, Pop's pooch and the young dog we'd had since a pup before King. I was told the latter dog, now 2 or 3 years old, would be mine despite his having bonded to my Mom. Since we were selling everything, and would live in a small trailer we pulled behind the car, there was no room for the larger dog my King would soon become. He was not made to live in such confined quarters anyway. Presumably he was to be trained to herd livestock as had his father who I had befriended earlier.
We had a public auction and sold all of our personal belongings, other than those that would fit in that Trotwood Trailer
(Our trailer looked like this video only brand new so neat and trim -- no mattress in the back as that was a sofa that opened into a bed).
We had to part with some possessions in earlier moves and now again with even more. Pop had the Trotwood sawed in half and added some footage to make it a bit longer. The sofa at the back of the trailer made into a bed which would be used by my folks. The front end of the trailer had a breakfast nook that
could be collapsed and became a bed where I slept. The interior was compact with some closets, drawers and shelf space, a sink, a small refrigerator, a stove on which to cook, a furnace, but no other facilities.
I was sad and excited, with a range of emotions in between, at the prospect of this move. In my adult years, as I have reflected on events, such as this, I've often thought about how experiences beginning in childhood serve to influence my perspective and attitudes toward life. I chose to look upon those geographic moves as great adventures and they were for me. I continue, as then, to learn about accommodation and adjustment. Perhaps these were early learning experiences for me in adaptation, coping with loss, preparation for my future. My memories of those years linger on.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Betrayal and Heartbreak
I remember when we first met. He was of quite small physical stature standing next to me, but I cared little about that difference in height between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his admiration for me so apparent. His gaze followed me wherever I went. I began to feel an unbidden affection toward him developing within me. When his brown eyes focused on my own, I was overcome with a sense of commitment to him.
We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.
We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.
Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.
Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.
The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.
He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."
So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.
Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.
When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.
I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.
Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.
The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.
Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.
During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.
We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.
We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.
Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.
Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.
The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.
He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."
So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.
Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.
When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.
I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.
Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.
The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.
Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.
During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Happy Birthday -- Saturday, August 18, 2007
M I L L I E
G A R F I E L D
... and many more !!!
"See you" over at your place: "My Mom's Blog".
Keep writing those funny stories, fascinating memories, and philosophical facts.
Oh, yeah! Keep us entertained with those hilarious videos of you opening aggravating and downright difficult to get into packages.
You constantly surprise me with new features on your blog, including your most recent cooking adventure with "Spices of Life."
ABC News, Retirement Living TV appearances, AARP, newspapers around the country -- up and down the East Coast from Palm Beach to Boston -- a multitude of Internet web sites and blogs sing your praises. My voice and words join that number.
G A R F I E L D
... and many more !!!
"See you" over at your place: "My Mom's Blog".
Keep writing those funny stories, fascinating memories, and philosophical facts.
Oh, yeah! Keep us entertained with those hilarious videos of you opening aggravating and downright difficult to get into packages.
You constantly surprise me with new features on your blog, including your most recent cooking adventure with "Spices of Life."
ABC News, Retirement Living TV appearances, AARP, newspapers around the country -- up and down the East Coast from Palm Beach to Boston -- a multitude of Internet web sites and blogs sing your praises. My voice and words join that number.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Gnomedex Proud Elder
(See photos of Ronni at Gnomedex at "Blogging In Paris" in a 8/13/07 link.)
Ronni Bennett's appearance in Seattle at the Gnomedex Convention
made this elder feel proud of how well she presented and represented my views and interests. I just can't think of a better spokesperson with such a complete grasp of aging issues that are of concern and interest to me.
For anyone who isn't familiar with Ronni Bennett, she blogs at "Times Goes By." writing about "What It's Really Like To Get Older." I don't think I am overstating the reality when I say she is a guiding light mentor for many Elderbloggers. She certainly is a primary source for important information about all aspects of aging.
She adopted use of "Elderblogger" to designate anyone 50 years of age and older after Elisa Camahort of BlogHer coined the term. Elder, of course, refers to the multi-cultural centuries old term usage which denotes respect and wisdom for community selected old er members.
Chris Pirillo, tech guru running this second annual Gnomedex Convention asked Ronni to provide a presentation about elderblogging. She did just that yesterday, Friday, August 10, 2007 with live streaming audio and video to our computers. I was able to adjust my schdule to enjoy the experience and want to write some my observations here while they are fresh in my mind. Perhaps they'll be of interest to anyone who may have missed this event.
Ronni engaged the audience with a brief recap of just how many elders there are in this country today and how rapidly our numbers are increasing. This was food for thought since many of the young people in the audience likely can't imagine they will ever be elders, but we all know better. They should hope they become elders, since there is only one other alternative.
I was reminded at the beginning of this streaming video event of the early days of television's live programming. In those days, little glitches (sometimes big ones) occurred, to an audience's delight, and all could see real people coping with unexpected problems resulting in a less than perfect production -- just like the real lives we all live. So it was with this production, there were a few little snafus getting the technical quirks corrected.
As with life sometimes, some good came of the glitches, as lucky Ronni was introduced by Chris to the latest, but, not inexpensive tech gadget from Steve Jobs' called the IPhone. She was promised some hands on time with it.
The streaming audio and video was a bit frustrating to follow at times with brief spurts of content loss more often than I would have liked, but think that's the nature of fine tuning some of these new technologies, just like the issues we each face with our own computers. I'm comforted all these bright intelligent young geek technologists are having such a great time trying to correct all these issues to provide us with more and better system operations.
Ronni brought two convention attendees onstage to demonstrate some of what the aging experience is like for individuals with vision, touch and other sensory problems. The realilty is many people of all ages experience some of these problems and more, but we don't always hear too much about them except from those involved in providing special education and selected therapies.
Among the numerous points she made were some we know from our own experiences. For many people, larger size keyboard letters/symbols are needed. Print sizes, color contrasts are important i.e. black print on white is preferable. I know much of this from my own mother's needs.
Ronni continues to make the case for an inexpensive, less than complex functional computer incorporating other desired features appealing to elders. She offered much more pertinent information than reported here.
One unexpected interesting feature to me on this live streaming vdeo was another real time feature called T Flash Commenters. A viewer could sign up and make comments that would appear just under the video in an ongoing dialogue. I immediately tried to sign up, but my security system wouldn't allow me to do so, and I didn't have time to try to adjust it since I wanted to concentrate on the videocast that was starting.
I could really sense that as Ronni's presentation progressed, her live audience was becoming increasingly interested and responsive to what she was saying. Just to give you a flavor of how I arrived at that perception, I'm going to repeat just a few of the T Flash Comments that I copied from my screen from reactions when she first began to speak until the closing of her presentation. I didn't attempt to write down the names of the commenters, since all was happening so fast. Here are some of the comments:
"Who is she?"
This was followed by a few ageist comments about "old people" and then, "Who cares!" in response to some points she made in the beginning. (I thought, "You better care, because you'll be one of us before you know it.")
Gradually, as some wrote about their parents, grandparents the climate warmed and the naysayers cooled.
"My grandma is 71." ... "Mine 102."
Commenters setting a more postive tone toward elders seemed to mello the earlier negative ones, perhaps making them stop and think. I believe this is why ageism dialogue is so important, and why we should speak up instead of just letting ageist language slide on by.
Chris became involved on stage with Ronni at one point and suggested that maybe what was needed was an Elder Browser. Sounded like an interesting idea to me. I'm just enthusiastic that thoughts and ideas about elders are being stimulated.
More written comments on the T Flash Dialogue about Ronni followed:
"She is making good points."
"Old people need a computer they talk to."
"She is cool."
Ronni mentioned typing as a forerunner of keyboarding and her typing speed of 120 WPM, to which the commenters wrote:
"120 words per minute! Can any of you ignorants out there do that?"
Then ensued a brief written dialogue about typewriters, whether or not anyone had ever used one. ("I have! I have!" I said laughingly to myself, "...and I could type 120 WPM, too.")
Ronni continued with even more intelligent information, to which a commenter wrote:
"This woman is actually making good points."
Later, Ronni turned to the audience for questions and comments. I was pleased when some of the audience responded by expressing interest in devising technical equipment for elders needs. I just hope they met with her afterward, or will have contact later to actually take some action. A man then shared a story about his father's early computer involvement "scanning old slides." These T Flash written comments about Ronni followed:
"I wish my parents knew half of what she does."
"Interests transcend ages."
"She's not a dog!" (My thought to that was, "Is this what some of these younger people think of older people?")
I watched a presenter, Vanessa, (sorry, I didn't get her full name or blog) who followed Ronni, discussing an interesting topic about how much to disclose about oneself on a blog and other privacy issues. Ronni asked her some really pertinent questions and offered some comments that really enhanced Vanessa's presentation. Here's what some of the T Flash Dialogue was about Ronni then:
"Is that the old lady talking?"
"Good for her!"
I wish I could remember what Ronni's comment was that prompted this, but I had a big laugh when I read it:
"Please, lady, your generation is the one that kicked out polite society."
I'm going to have to attend one of these blogger conventions somewhere sometime. I think they need to see and hear from more elders.
Thanks, Ronni!
Ronni Bennett's appearance in Seattle at the Gnomedex Convention
made this elder feel proud of how well she presented and represented my views and interests. I just can't think of a better spokesperson with such a complete grasp of aging issues that are of concern and interest to me.
For anyone who isn't familiar with Ronni Bennett, she blogs at "Times Goes By." writing about "What It's Really Like To Get Older." I don't think I am overstating the reality when I say she is a guiding light mentor for many Elderbloggers. She certainly is a primary source for important information about all aspects of aging.
She adopted use of "Elderblogger" to designate anyone 50 years of age and older after Elisa Camahort of BlogHer coined the term. Elder, of course, refers to the multi-cultural centuries old term usage which denotes respect and wisdom for community selected old er members.
Chris Pirillo, tech guru running this second annual Gnomedex Convention asked Ronni to provide a presentation about elderblogging. She did just that yesterday, Friday, August 10, 2007 with live streaming audio and video to our computers. I was able to adjust my schdule to enjoy the experience and want to write some my observations here while they are fresh in my mind. Perhaps they'll be of interest to anyone who may have missed this event.
Ronni engaged the audience with a brief recap of just how many elders there are in this country today and how rapidly our numbers are increasing. This was food for thought since many of the young people in the audience likely can't imagine they will ever be elders, but we all know better. They should hope they become elders, since there is only one other alternative.
I was reminded at the beginning of this streaming video event of the early days of television's live programming. In those days, little glitches (sometimes big ones) occurred, to an audience's delight, and all could see real people coping with unexpected problems resulting in a less than perfect production -- just like the real lives we all live. So it was with this production, there were a few little snafus getting the technical quirks corrected.
As with life sometimes, some good came of the glitches, as lucky Ronni was introduced by Chris to the latest, but, not inexpensive tech gadget from Steve Jobs' called the IPhone. She was promised some hands on time with it.
The streaming audio and video was a bit frustrating to follow at times with brief spurts of content loss more often than I would have liked, but think that's the nature of fine tuning some of these new technologies, just like the issues we each face with our own computers. I'm comforted all these bright intelligent young geek technologists are having such a great time trying to correct all these issues to provide us with more and better system operations.
Ronni brought two convention attendees onstage to demonstrate some of what the aging experience is like for individuals with vision, touch and other sensory problems. The realilty is many people of all ages experience some of these problems and more, but we don't always hear too much about them except from those involved in providing special education and selected therapies.
Among the numerous points she made were some we know from our own experiences. For many people, larger size keyboard letters/symbols are needed. Print sizes, color contrasts are important i.e. black print on white is preferable. I know much of this from my own mother's needs.
Ronni continues to make the case for an inexpensive, less than complex functional computer incorporating other desired features appealing to elders. She offered much more pertinent information than reported here.
One unexpected interesting feature to me on this live streaming vdeo was another real time feature called T Flash Commenters. A viewer could sign up and make comments that would appear just under the video in an ongoing dialogue. I immediately tried to sign up, but my security system wouldn't allow me to do so, and I didn't have time to try to adjust it since I wanted to concentrate on the videocast that was starting.
I could really sense that as Ronni's presentation progressed, her live audience was becoming increasingly interested and responsive to what she was saying. Just to give you a flavor of how I arrived at that perception, I'm going to repeat just a few of the T Flash Comments that I copied from my screen from reactions when she first began to speak until the closing of her presentation. I didn't attempt to write down the names of the commenters, since all was happening so fast. Here are some of the comments:
"Who is she?"
This was followed by a few ageist comments about "old people" and then, "Who cares!" in response to some points she made in the beginning. (I thought, "You better care, because you'll be one of us before you know it.")
Gradually, as some wrote about their parents, grandparents the climate warmed and the naysayers cooled.
"My grandma is 71." ... "Mine 102."
Commenters setting a more postive tone toward elders seemed to mello the earlier negative ones, perhaps making them stop and think. I believe this is why ageism dialogue is so important, and why we should speak up instead of just letting ageist language slide on by.
Chris became involved on stage with Ronni at one point and suggested that maybe what was needed was an Elder Browser. Sounded like an interesting idea to me. I'm just enthusiastic that thoughts and ideas about elders are being stimulated.
More written comments on the T Flash Dialogue about Ronni followed:
"She is making good points."
"Old people need a computer they talk to."
"She is cool."
Ronni mentioned typing as a forerunner of keyboarding and her typing speed of 120 WPM, to which the commenters wrote:
"120 words per minute! Can any of you ignorants out there do that?"
Then ensued a brief written dialogue about typewriters, whether or not anyone had ever used one. ("I have! I have!" I said laughingly to myself, "...and I could type 120 WPM, too.")
Ronni continued with even more intelligent information, to which a commenter wrote:
"This woman is actually making good points."
Later, Ronni turned to the audience for questions and comments. I was pleased when some of the audience responded by expressing interest in devising technical equipment for elders needs. I just hope they met with her afterward, or will have contact later to actually take some action. A man then shared a story about his father's early computer involvement "scanning old slides." These T Flash written comments about Ronni followed:
"I wish my parents knew half of what she does."
"Interests transcend ages."
"She's not a dog!" (My thought to that was, "Is this what some of these younger people think of older people?")
I watched a presenter, Vanessa, (sorry, I didn't get her full name or blog) who followed Ronni, discussing an interesting topic about how much to disclose about oneself on a blog and other privacy issues. Ronni asked her some really pertinent questions and offered some comments that really enhanced Vanessa's presentation. Here's what some of the T Flash Dialogue was about Ronni then:
"Is that the old lady talking?"
"Good for her!"
I wish I could remember what Ronni's comment was that prompted this, but I had a big laugh when I read it:
"Please, lady, your generation is the one that kicked out polite society."
I'm going to have to attend one of these blogger conventions somewhere sometime. I think they need to see and hear from more elders.
Thanks, Ronni!
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Violation
The front door wasn't pulled closed as tightly as usual which is what created my daughter's feeling of apprehension when she arrived home that afternoon. Noting also neither of our family's cars parked in the driveway, she went to the neighbors to express her discomfort with the fact our house’s door was ajar. Our neighbor came with her to the house, and cautiously pushed open our front door. They could see nothing out of place in the living room, so stepped into the entryway.
They were greeted by only absolute silence, so concluded that no one in our family was present. Their increasing unease with the situation resulted in their decision to phone the police. In retrospect, we all realized they should never have entered the house at all. They should have instead phoned the authorities in the very beginning lest someone was hidden in the house.
The local police arrived almost immediately. They must have been close by. The officers conducted some preliminary exterior investigation before entering the house. They established there had been intruders, but they were no longer present. Entry by our family members was now safe. About that time my husband arrived home from work and learned of the break-in.
When I came home a short time later, the officers had just left, so family members greeted me with the account our house had been burgled. My first feeling was of heightened alarm at the thought my children might have been home and the danger to which they might have been exposed. That concern was alleviated as I learned the sequence of events from the time of the break-in discovery until I returned home.
The officers' concluded that burglars had entered through a small window in another room, after breaking a glass panel, rifled through our belongings, then exited by the front door. I was told the manner of the robbery was unsophisticated and unprofessional. Coupled with that information was the fact the point of entry was such a small area, detectives had deduced there was a high probability that the culprits were young kids.
But now, my sense of anxiety mounted as I looked around the house. I quickly headed toward my bedroom, since my family members initial investigations indicated most of the ransacking appeared to have occurred there. Walking down the hallway, I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders tense, my stomach tighten to ward off unpleasant feelings that could precipitate tears should I find unwelcome sights or missing emotionally valued possessions. Thoughts of items that might have been taken centered mostly on those of sentimental value such as my recently deceased mother's wedding rings.
My husband had discovered earlier the items he was missing were from the top of his chest of drawers. Most significantly absent, was the wedding ring he had no longer been able to wear due to swelling in his hands and fingers as a consequence of medical problems. I experienced a sickening feeling with the information his ring was gone. Pictures flashed through my mind like one of his colored slide shows of 35 mm photos. I could see our visits to the jewelry store, making our final ring selection, arranging to our tastes the slight change in ring stone design, then visualizing the engraving we had done on the inside of each ring that made them ever so personal. The re-lived show climaxed with the moments when we presented our rings to each other.
I noted soon after entering our bedroom that a few pieces of my jewelry were missing. Curiously, in the earring category only one of each of several matching pairs was taken with the mate left behind, lending credence to the likelihood of the youthful nature of our criminals. I also discovered my underwear drawer had been rifled. The drawer contents certainly called for laundering now, though there was no outward sign of soiling.
Stashed at the front of the drawer, but now missing, had been a couple of souvenir
miniature bottles of vodka from some much earlier event. We were rather glad they had located those bottles as we think that finding deterred them from further felonious activity. With this bottled spirits discovery, I think the crooks headed straight for the kitchen.
The partially filled orange juice carton had been removed from the refrigerator, the vodka possibly added, then clearly shaken with the lid opened. The orange liquid contents had splashed on the soft yellow ceiling, slopped on the geometrically patterned floor, smeared on papers lying on the oval-shaped maple table and sprinkled in small now-sticky puddles across the table top with a few drippy splatters on the wall. Quite possibly the mess-makers left the house soon after, perhaps having concluded they didn't dare stay any longer. All I could think was, how much worse the aftermath might have been from these marauders.
Nothing appeared missing in my daughter's room, but they had invaded my son's bedroom. A damaged metal cash box indicated they had expended some time prying this locked box open. How excited they must have been imagining paper money or some other valuables from the slight rattle that came only from the empty drawer inside, but they didn't know that, so disappointingly they found nothing for all their effort.
Later searches throughout the house revealed additional items of consequence were missing, along with some items that had little significance except to me. They took my Sony Walkman that was one of only two prizes I had ever won in a drawing in my entire life. (The first was a boy's bicycle won many years ago when I was single, but I had sold that for the obvious reason -- I wasn't a boy.)
These thieves did take my first ever just started personal journal from a bedside night table drawer. This book, a gift from a friend, would have had no value whatsoever to them. I've often wondered did they just glance and see writing on the first page, then conclude there might be more of interest to read? Or, did they just want a souvenir?
The reality was, the only entry I had made was on the first page. That entry had been ever so carefully worded with abstract questions, a generalized quote, non-specific wordings with intentional vagueness as to obfuscate any literal meaning to anyone except me. The fact these hooligans took my journal served only to reinforce my long held apprehension about the wisdom of ever writing my inner most thoughts in a journal in the first place.
I had always felt strongly I didn't want other eyes to read my thoughts, believing that some meditations are better left inside the mind, which I do occasionally forget, only to sometimes regret later having done so. These common crooks had graphically demonstrated to me that a written journal would always be at risk for such a personal violation. Could I reconcile myself to taking this risk again by starting a new journal, or would I even want to bother?
Most people with whom I've spoken, or read others written accounts about their home having been broken into, share a common view. Even those of us subjected to the experience more than once are left with intense feelings of anger, vulnerability, as though our whole being had been violated in some obscene way. I can only wish the same experience on those who commit these acts, but then that would likely just reinforce in their minds justification for inflicting a retaliatory response toward other unsuspecting souls which may be what prompted their act in the first place.
Clearly there is a lack of moral compass, an inability to discern right from wrong, a failure to respect others, poor judgment discerning acceptable behavior in a society, absent feelings of empathy with known or unknown people being robbed. Such actions are simply not bored kids wanting to have fun. There is never anything funny at any age about inflicting pain on another human being whether by actions or words. There is damage to the belief in the good will of one person toward another clearly violating trust.
They were greeted by only absolute silence, so concluded that no one in our family was present. Their increasing unease with the situation resulted in their decision to phone the police. In retrospect, we all realized they should never have entered the house at all. They should have instead phoned the authorities in the very beginning lest someone was hidden in the house.
The local police arrived almost immediately. They must have been close by. The officers conducted some preliminary exterior investigation before entering the house. They established there had been intruders, but they were no longer present. Entry by our family members was now safe. About that time my husband arrived home from work and learned of the break-in.
When I came home a short time later, the officers had just left, so family members greeted me with the account our house had been burgled. My first feeling was of heightened alarm at the thought my children might have been home and the danger to which they might have been exposed. That concern was alleviated as I learned the sequence of events from the time of the break-in discovery until I returned home.
The officers' concluded that burglars had entered through a small window in another room, after breaking a glass panel, rifled through our belongings, then exited by the front door. I was told the manner of the robbery was unsophisticated and unprofessional. Coupled with that information was the fact the point of entry was such a small area, detectives had deduced there was a high probability that the culprits were young kids.
But now, my sense of anxiety mounted as I looked around the house. I quickly headed toward my bedroom, since my family members initial investigations indicated most of the ransacking appeared to have occurred there. Walking down the hallway, I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders tense, my stomach tighten to ward off unpleasant feelings that could precipitate tears should I find unwelcome sights or missing emotionally valued possessions. Thoughts of items that might have been taken centered mostly on those of sentimental value such as my recently deceased mother's wedding rings.
My husband had discovered earlier the items he was missing were from the top of his chest of drawers. Most significantly absent, was the wedding ring he had no longer been able to wear due to swelling in his hands and fingers as a consequence of medical problems. I experienced a sickening feeling with the information his ring was gone. Pictures flashed through my mind like one of his colored slide shows of 35 mm photos. I could see our visits to the jewelry store, making our final ring selection, arranging to our tastes the slight change in ring stone design, then visualizing the engraving we had done on the inside of each ring that made them ever so personal. The re-lived show climaxed with the moments when we presented our rings to each other.
I noted soon after entering our bedroom that a few pieces of my jewelry were missing. Curiously, in the earring category only one of each of several matching pairs was taken with the mate left behind, lending credence to the likelihood of the youthful nature of our criminals. I also discovered my underwear drawer had been rifled. The drawer contents certainly called for laundering now, though there was no outward sign of soiling.
Stashed at the front of the drawer, but now missing, had been a couple of souvenir
miniature bottles of vodka from some much earlier event. We were rather glad they had located those bottles as we think that finding deterred them from further felonious activity. With this bottled spirits discovery, I think the crooks headed straight for the kitchen.
The partially filled orange juice carton had been removed from the refrigerator, the vodka possibly added, then clearly shaken with the lid opened. The orange liquid contents had splashed on the soft yellow ceiling, slopped on the geometrically patterned floor, smeared on papers lying on the oval-shaped maple table and sprinkled in small now-sticky puddles across the table top with a few drippy splatters on the wall. Quite possibly the mess-makers left the house soon after, perhaps having concluded they didn't dare stay any longer. All I could think was, how much worse the aftermath might have been from these marauders.
Nothing appeared missing in my daughter's room, but they had invaded my son's bedroom. A damaged metal cash box indicated they had expended some time prying this locked box open. How excited they must have been imagining paper money or some other valuables from the slight rattle that came only from the empty drawer inside, but they didn't know that, so disappointingly they found nothing for all their effort.
Later searches throughout the house revealed additional items of consequence were missing, along with some items that had little significance except to me. They took my Sony Walkman that was one of only two prizes I had ever won in a drawing in my entire life. (The first was a boy's bicycle won many years ago when I was single, but I had sold that for the obvious reason -- I wasn't a boy.)
These thieves did take my first ever just started personal journal from a bedside night table drawer. This book, a gift from a friend, would have had no value whatsoever to them. I've often wondered did they just glance and see writing on the first page, then conclude there might be more of interest to read? Or, did they just want a souvenir?
The reality was, the only entry I had made was on the first page. That entry had been ever so carefully worded with abstract questions, a generalized quote, non-specific wordings with intentional vagueness as to obfuscate any literal meaning to anyone except me. The fact these hooligans took my journal served only to reinforce my long held apprehension about the wisdom of ever writing my inner most thoughts in a journal in the first place.
I had always felt strongly I didn't want other eyes to read my thoughts, believing that some meditations are better left inside the mind, which I do occasionally forget, only to sometimes regret later having done so. These common crooks had graphically demonstrated to me that a written journal would always be at risk for such a personal violation. Could I reconcile myself to taking this risk again by starting a new journal, or would I even want to bother?
Most people with whom I've spoken, or read others written accounts about their home having been broken into, share a common view. Even those of us subjected to the experience more than once are left with intense feelings of anger, vulnerability, as though our whole being had been violated in some obscene way. I can only wish the same experience on those who commit these acts, but then that would likely just reinforce in their minds justification for inflicting a retaliatory response toward other unsuspecting souls which may be what prompted their act in the first place.
Clearly there is a lack of moral compass, an inability to discern right from wrong, a failure to respect others, poor judgment discerning acceptable behavior in a society, absent feelings of empathy with known or unknown people being robbed. Such actions are simply not bored kids wanting to have fun. There is never anything funny at any age about inflicting pain on another human being whether by actions or words. There is damage to the belief in the good will of one person toward another clearly violating trust.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Nude Humor
An earlier blog version was first posted as "Tick Epidemic" at "The Elder Storytelling Place."
Tick Epidemic
A lot of fun in teasing, joking and craziness that can include practical jokes occurs between friends through the years. Some exchanges happen in person, other interactions with more distant friends occur by letter, in recent years more easily by phone and for some via email today. One such area of humorous expression on the Internet involves distributing written information presented as accurate, that actually is false.
Some unknown third party foists on to others,in jest, their untrue written concoction of phony facts that generally reads as though it’s quite authentic. Then in a gesture of caring and concern well-intentioned individuals, believing the information to be true, forward these erroneous facts to their friends and family. Examples of such jest seem to materialize frequently disguised as diet and health warnings. Checking the authenticity of these story facts, referred to as "urban legends," is often wise.
A friend did once send me such a warning. Thinking she had probably checked the veracity of the facts, I didn't bother to verify the accuracy before forwarding the information to another friend. That friend, much more Internet savvy than I, immediately recognized the long known lack of legitimacy of this data, and set me straight. Naturally, I had great fun informing my other friend her story was bogus. She has not forgotten though considerable time has passed since then.
I recently received a message from her stating that she has now developed an intense dislike toward sending diet, health and other warning emails to friends. She told me that a recent experience was so serious, however, she was disregarding this aversion, just this once, to send me this warning. She said, "I had someone come to the door who told me there was a tick epidemic and to take off all my clothes." She continued, "If someone comes to your door and tells you the same thing, don't do it!" I'm so glad I have a friend that cares so much about me.
I am reminded of a factual story another friend told me that contrasts with the fictional stories described above. He sometimes provides training for people with short term memory problems. Such difficulties manifest themselves in many ways, sometimes involving the person forgetting to perform ordinary daily activities like brushing their teeth, or dressing, even how to do so. Some may, irritatingly to others, keep repeating words they've just said. What is actually forgotten is unique to each individual.
It seems my friend had an adult woman patient with serious short term memory problems. He went to her home for their regular scheduled morning training session, then knocked on her door as usual. When she opened the door, he was quite startled to observe that she was totally nude. He quickly recovered his composure, then said in a manner and tone to not alarm her, "Oh, Jean, I see you forgot to put on your clothes today." Glancing down, she noticed her unclothed body apparently for the first time that morning. She responded, quite unembarrassed, "Why yes, I see I did." She quickly excused herself to her bedroom to get dressed as she motioned him into the living room to wait for her.
When fully dressed, she re-joined him. They immediately focused their attention on continuing tasks to assist her in increasing her memory skills and to develop ways to cope with the challenges in the meantime.
I find humor in many sources with some originating in creative minds, others in the interpretation of real life events. Either way, interesting and humorous stories can evolve to evoke my chuckles. The laughs those tales generate are just enough to release the brain chemicals called endorphins that science has proven provide a beneficial healing effect in our bodies. I think I'll give more thought to some of the humorous stories of my life as well as seeking such tales from others.
Tick Epidemic
A lot of fun in teasing, joking and craziness that can include practical jokes occurs between friends through the years. Some exchanges happen in person, other interactions with more distant friends occur by letter, in recent years more easily by phone and for some via email today. One such area of humorous expression on the Internet involves distributing written information presented as accurate, that actually is false.
Some unknown third party foists on to others,in jest, their untrue written concoction of phony facts that generally reads as though it’s quite authentic. Then in a gesture of caring and concern well-intentioned individuals, believing the information to be true, forward these erroneous facts to their friends and family. Examples of such jest seem to materialize frequently disguised as diet and health warnings. Checking the authenticity of these story facts, referred to as "urban legends," is often wise.
A friend did once send me such a warning. Thinking she had probably checked the veracity of the facts, I didn't bother to verify the accuracy before forwarding the information to another friend. That friend, much more Internet savvy than I, immediately recognized the long known lack of legitimacy of this data, and set me straight. Naturally, I had great fun informing my other friend her story was bogus. She has not forgotten though considerable time has passed since then.
I recently received a message from her stating that she has now developed an intense dislike toward sending diet, health and other warning emails to friends. She told me that a recent experience was so serious, however, she was disregarding this aversion, just this once, to send me this warning. She said, "I had someone come to the door who told me there was a tick epidemic and to take off all my clothes." She continued, "If someone comes to your door and tells you the same thing, don't do it!" I'm so glad I have a friend that cares so much about me.
I am reminded of a factual story another friend told me that contrasts with the fictional stories described above. He sometimes provides training for people with short term memory problems. Such difficulties manifest themselves in many ways, sometimes involving the person forgetting to perform ordinary daily activities like brushing their teeth, or dressing, even how to do so. Some may, irritatingly to others, keep repeating words they've just said. What is actually forgotten is unique to each individual.
It seems my friend had an adult woman patient with serious short term memory problems. He went to her home for their regular scheduled morning training session, then knocked on her door as usual. When she opened the door, he was quite startled to observe that she was totally nude. He quickly recovered his composure, then said in a manner and tone to not alarm her, "Oh, Jean, I see you forgot to put on your clothes today." Glancing down, she noticed her unclothed body apparently for the first time that morning. She responded, quite unembarrassed, "Why yes, I see I did." She quickly excused herself to her bedroom to get dressed as she motioned him into the living room to wait for her.
When fully dressed, she re-joined him. They immediately focused their attention on continuing tasks to assist her in increasing her memory skills and to develop ways to cope with the challenges in the meantime.
I find humor in many sources with some originating in creative minds, others in the interpretation of real life events. Either way, interesting and humorous stories can evolve to evoke my chuckles. The laughs those tales generate are just enough to release the brain chemicals called endorphins that science has proven provide a beneficial healing effect in our bodies. I think I'll give more thought to some of the humorous stories of my life as well as seeking such tales from others.
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