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unowho36
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Interests: Kids, People, Reading, History, Genealogy, Knitting (hope someday to actually finish something)
Expertise: Just about everything, just ask me.
Occupation: Retired
Industry: Education/Research
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
9/3/2004
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| It's Time for September Song againSEPTEMBER SONG
By Kurt Weill
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.
Oh the days dwindle down to a precious few
September November and these few precious days I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend with you
[ guitar ]
Oh the days dwindle down...
These precious days I'll spend with you
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I tried to avoid posting this song again. It's kind of a cliche, of course, and it really doesn't seem like real Autumn here yet. But iI feel like this is my song, and I've loved it since I first heard it, before WWII, and I just can't do without it. So I'm sharing it with you. I probably did the same last year. It's so nice to have a short memory, so you have an excuse to repeat your favorite sayings and songs all you want!
I left out the part about "When I was a young man courting the girls, etc etc etc." There's lots more to "These precious days I'll spend with you" than courting. These days ARE precious, and I appreciate the joy of spending them with family and friends, especially xanga friends like you all!
I also dedicate the song to a dear friend, Denver Doug "Riddiger."
The teeth problem may be behind us. I went to the dentist and threw myself on his mercy. Wasn't sure what to expect, since this was a different new young dentist than the one I had dealt with when I was there last. It must be something about the air in the clinic, or part of the screening process for young partners, because Dr. H had the same kind, understanding eyes (well, not the VERY same ones, but very similar in expression) , the empathetic smile, and the ability to find answers to problems that characterized Dr. W, the "old" dentist (who, like Dr. H, looked as if he was probably pushing thirty, but not very hard.) I don't remember the technical term for the teeth I am getting, but they are somewhat less aesthetic, and possibly less longer lasting than the ones I lost. More like my own teeth, in other words. They also are about 1/3 of the cost.
Now, when the old teeth show up, I will just consider myself lucky to have two sets, instead of mourning my assassinated credit card. I have two of everything else, and sometimes I manage to lose both of them, but we won't think of that til we have to.
AND they will be ready next Thursday, just before the weekend of my birthday celebration--if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise. And all goes well at the lab.
That's all for now. I'll let you know how it goes! And maybe I'll also remember what else I wanted to write about! Hope your September Song is turning out to be a beautiful one! | | |
| Day four Still no teeth. I was gone most of the day yesterday, but today I've had all kinds of company--volunteers dropping in to search for those elusive dentures. The social worker did a very thorough job this morning, urged on by the chaplain. The nurse dropped by, but we were too busy talking to do much looking. Then the Big Guns came in--Dear Daughter and her husband. He did a wonderful job of taking the furniture apart, and looking in places the rest of us hadn't thought of, while she went through the garbage. No luck, but it sure kept us busy for awhile.
Actually, I was just thinking, this would be a great theme for a party. Find the Missing Teeth! Or maybe it's too limited an activity to make a whole party out of it. Maybe it could be just one game. But there could be decorations--lots of smiley faces, maybe? And lots of wine and easy-to-chew hors d'eouvres (sorry if I messed that spelling up--Spellcheck wouldn't touch it.) And a bag of garbage for each person to go through. One prize for the person who gets to the bottom of the bag in the shortest time, maybe--and of course, a big prize for the one who finds the teeth.
Hey, there have been weirder Party themes than that, as I'm sure you know--but a party is a party. I think the party I most enjoyed was a Divorce Party, when the hostess had bought some cheap dishes at the thrift store, and gave us each some plates. Each guest stepped up to a garbage can (it had a brick in it for the dishes to break on) told about something that had really made us mad, and smashed the plate into the can. It was hard to think of what to say with the first one, but after that, it was hard to stop doing it. There's just nothing as much fun as smashing things, sometimes.
I'm sure the missing teeth will show up soon. As always, the trick will be to pretend I'm not looking for them; just think about something else. As Hat says, they'll turn up in the last place we look.
Meanwhile, there's a lot going on around me. DDaughter and DGrandson are leaving Wednesday for him to go to his new university. I feel like it's one of those stories where the young creature goes out to seek his fortune. Like the three little pigs, for instance, whose Mama gave them each a stick with a bandana filled with food in it, and waved her handkerchief as they trudged away down the road. Of course, today's youngun is hauling off computer components and cell phones in his bandana, so it's handier to have a car to carry it all. But the basic idea is still the same. And of course, the Big Bad Wolf is still around.
I'm looking for our little piglet to kick some wolfy rear end, if need be. He's a very capable guy.
You all probably know how things are going with the political conventions. It was interesting, having the Democrats meet in Denver--we don't very often get such occasions in the Intermountain West. The Republicans meet next week in Minnesota, but they've chosen an Idaho-born and educated woman as their Vice-Presidential candidate, so we're kind of part of that process too.
Of course, the Republicans haven't actually chosen their candidates yet. But it's not like the old days, when you weren't sure who the candidates would be until the delegates at the Convention chose them. With all the voting and caucusing we've been doing, we pretty well know who the candidates are going to be, but we don't know it for sure until the process is completed. As I understand it, back in the day, all the politics of choosing a candidate were worked out by a few devious people in smoke-filled rooms. But now we supposedly have all that out in the open. I frankly don't know which way is more confusing. But it's worked so far. Sort of.
I think this must be the first year I ever remember when the Democrats sought Unity. It must have really been hard for them. The whole thing about being a Democrat is daring to dissent. One year we left our tv set with my aunt and uncle while we were in Tennessee for summer school. When we got back, Uncle George had to tell us that the tv had just frizzed out while we were gone. He blamed the Democrat Convention for it--said the riot and commotion was just too much for the poor thing to take.
Well, it's time for night-night. Hope you all have a wonderful Labor Day Weekend--which, of course, traditionally means a weekend in which you don't labor at all! | | |
| Oh Where Oh Where Can They Be? Well, I saw the oncologist, and she saw me, and it turned out the footsteps were right--transfusion needed. There's also a little warning that I can't have transfusions forever. Honestly, I'd kind of figured that our already. I asked if they'd like for me to come in every four weeks instead of every three, but that's not for the patient to say.
Then it turned out that this is some kind of old-home time in the ambulatory care units--everybody seems to want to drop in there this week, so they're too busy to see me til tomorrow. Okay, that's not too long a wait. Actually, it just skates in under the wire, according to the blood bank. If you go longer than 72 hours between the blood test and the transfusion, they make you take the blood test again before they'll refuel you.
These people are picky. I know it's for a good cause, but I've never gotten over the day I had to retake a blood test because the "o" in my name, printed on my ID bracelet, looked like an "a". See, the problem is, I was already anemic when I got the blood test that said I should have a transfusion. What do they do for anemia? In this case, they take more blood. Guess what the diagnosis will be--this patient is low on red blood cells. Well, duh! How about giving a few of them back then?
But, as we all know, logic and medicine don't always go together, hard as everyone works trying to make it so. The human element messes up everything.
Two more things happened that evening, that make it a memorable one. I fell asleep watching the Dems' Convention in Denver, and when I woke up, I couldn't remember what I'd done with my teeth. I still haven't found them. DSister came over today to help me look, and we went through all the garbage bags (I haven't emptied the garbage since the Great Loss), and the clothes hampers, and anywhere else a tired and dotty old woman could have decided would make a convenient teeth-holder---- nothing. We looked in the car. There are just not very many places they could be. But yet, they must be somewhere!
Just to show that my life truly is a sitcom, today was the day a newly found relative dropped by with pictures of family members I'd never seen before. I knew she'd be a hardy soul, who wouldn't run away screaming when she was met at the door by a Walter Brennan lookalike (Walter, by the way, may be kin, which might explain our resemblance), and so it proved to be. She didn't bat an eye. The only people who can't handle my toothless persona are the ones I talk to on the phone. They seem to think I've lost my keys, which doesn't explain why I sound so funny on the phone.
Entrepeneurs, here's an idea for you. How about embedding a chip into false teeth that emits a signal, so that they can be found by clapping the hands, like we have for car keys? And while you're at it, put them in eyeglasses too. DSis had to use her old ones to help her find my teeth, because she can't find her new ones. There is absolutely nothing wrong with our memories; obviously, there are teeth thieves lurking about. And if they can't glom onto teeth, they go for eyeglasses.
It's just a wonder to me that I have to come up with these ideas that you'd think people could figure out for themselves, but there it is, now get to work on it!
I will post a bulletin, and there'll be a celebration when the Prodigal Dentures Return. Please let me know if you see them at your place. As I keep saying, they couldn't just disappear! Maybe they've gone the Flat Stanley way.
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| On looking over my last entry, it occurred to me that I may be identifying with my car. Sometimes I feel I may be making a few "ta-pocketa" noises myself. Tomorrow is my usual appointment with the oncologist, and I'm sorry to say I always have lots of symptoms the day before that occasion. They will, of course, all stop bothering me the minute I go through the waiting room door. Isn't modern medicine wonderful!
One of my symptoms is always kind of interesting--noises in my ears. It sounds like someone marching. This usually has something to do with anemia, and it means there'll be a transfusion in order pretty soon. I'm so lucky that something that simple can make me feel better! But the first time I mentioned them the doctor said that I was the only patient who'd ever talked about hearing marching noises when lacking red cells. It's so satisfying to be unique!
I hope it has nothing to do with the fact that one of my favorite short stories was called "Johnny Pye and the Fool-Killer", by Stephen Vincent Benet. Johnny Pye was a boy who somehow encountered a being called a "Fool-killer" and got away from him. The threat was that the Fool-killer would be back. Well, you know that's true. He seems to come for all of us eventually. Johnny spends his young life trying to evade the fool-killer, and has a lot of interesting adventures, such as joining a traveling medicine show. He often thinks he's found a place where the fool-killer won't find him--a place where there aren't fools nearby, to attract the F-K. But sooner or later, he hears the footsteps, and knows it's time to leave. My favorite one was when he asked a preacher what was going to happen to people who didn't believe exactly as he did. The footsteps were really near that time!
Sometimes when I hear the footsteps--er I mean, the marching noises-- I think of this story. Other times I am transported back to the days when I was a hapless clarinet player, practicing with the band to march in a parade. In my mind, it's early in the morning, I've got my lefts and my rights mixed up, as usual,and am skipping around trying to fix that before anybody notices, and every time I step in a hole (we practiced in a pasture), the clarinet mouthpiece jams down my throat. And it still makes me laugh. Probably in relief that I don't have to do that anymore!
This last week I got an e-mail from the aa/mds association (aplastic anemia and myelodysplastic syndrome) that studies have finally proved satisfactorily that the drug Vidaza has extended the lives (shoot, I can't remember the medical term--anyway, allowed people to live longer) of many patients. I'm sure you know all about that, from having heard it here first. Vidaza sometimes has some daunting side effects at first, although it didn't for me (I was so sick when I started that I couldn't tell that much difference), but still, if you ever have to make a choice between Vidaza and no Vidaza, here's one strong recommendation! Eventually, it will quit working, but when we stopped all treatments, I was told it was possible I might have a really short term of life left (two weeks was mentioned)--and here I still am, evidently coasting along on the after effects of the Vidaza and Dacogen, hardly any slower or lazier than normal. Who was that guy who said, "If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself?"
I have a genealogy project this week. I've just recently been contacted by a descendant of my great grandmother on my Dad's side of the family. It turns out she lives right here in Boise, and has offered to come over Wednesday and bring some pictures of my great grandparents and other members of the family who have just been sort of legends in my mind. Now I'm going to know what they looked like! It's really exciting, and I've been searching through all my pictures and genealogy stuff (though I think that might be coals to Newcastle where this lady is concerned) to see if I have something to share with her. I've discovered what I call The Grandpappy Effect. The family I'm looking for is my father's father's father's family. Meaning, I have hardly anything on them except a few old stories, which I'm pretty sure were told to amuse, not instruct. Well, that's something I hope will be remedied this week. I'll at least know what they looked like. All I really know about Great Grandma Hannah is that she was short, buxom, and consulted a dream book every morning to see what was going to happen next. She also ran a hotel, bar and restaurant in a mining town where payments were made with gold dust. Her son, my Grandpa, used to tell stories of panning the gold from the floor sweepings. I fear I might have already mentioned that. Well, he also mentioned that bartenders put a lot of grease in their hair, and when they measured the gold, they ran their fingers through their hair. At the end of the day, the would scrub out the dust from their hair, and pan that too! I suppose they didn't need to get tips in those days.
Hope your summer is winding down nicely! September, that lovely month, will be with us soon!
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| ta-pocketa ta-pocketa My car is making a sinister noise these days. I may have mentioned it before, since I don't get out and drive very much. I think the noise it's making is slightly reminiscent of something it was saying just before it stopped dead on the freeway a few years ago, and had to be towed into town. But it still makes me laugh, because it truly does sound like a sort of high-pitched "pocketa, ta-pocketa."
Does that remind you of anything? Well, children, let me tell you about a wonderful movie from 50 years ago, called "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty." It starred Danny Kaye, so you know it was hilarious. It was based on a short story I had read in school, with the same name, written by a genius named James Thurber.
The plot was ridiculous--they had to really flesh the story out, because the original story was, as I mentioned, short, so they gave it a lot of Hollywood hoke. But it had Danny Kaye in it, and a plot where a man daydreams to escape his humdrum life. And in every episode he dreamed that something went "ta-pocketa ta-pocketa" and he had to fix it. One time, he was a famous surgeon doing an operation against impossible odds. The machine that was keeping the patient alive developed a glitch. You guessed it, it started going "pocketa" etc. The brilliant surgeon plucked his fountain pen out of his shirt pocket and of course, plunged it into the machine exactly where it was needed, and the patient was saved. In another dream, he was a flying ace, diving in to kill the Red Baron before being killed himself. You can imagine what noises his worn-out plane started making. I don't remember how he got out of that predicament, but I've just realized I MUST SEE THAT MOVIE AGAIN! Maybe I need a whole Danny Kaye Marathon, come to think of it. " The Inspector General" comes to mind. And when I've watched all the Danny Kaye movies that Netflix can supply, I'm going to the library and get a whole lot of other James Thurber stories. I may not get the car fixed for awhile, but I intend to have a good time til I get around to it.
Well, I have lots more to write, but I'm going to stop now and make sure this part doesn't get wiped out. Tomorrow, after I come back from Widows' Group, there'll be lots more to write about. There'll be a test afterward, so be ready to think!
Oh come on, you know me better than that! Go get some sleep now! Tomorrow I'll probably just ask you what you think might be killing off my marigolds. I thought they could withstand anything!
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