Physician, Heal Thyself

Posted on August 4, 2011 by Coming East

I have bursitis.  At least, I think I have bursitis.  First I thought it was the return of my adhesive capsulitis (frozen shoulder), but since my shoulder isn’t really frozen and just hurts like H.E. Double Toothpicks (that’s for my mom, may her memory be a blessing), I’m going with bursitis.  I could go to the doctor, but I know what he’d tell me:  Ice it, take something like Advil or Aleve, and give it a rest.  So why waste my time and money scheduling a visit when I can treat me on my own?  Of course, if I ever suspected I had something serious, like symptoms of a heart attack or a sharp pain in my gut, I’d get to a doctor right away, or even the emergency room.  But it’s just bursitis.

When we were growing up, my mother never let us miss a day of school unless we were near death.  Once, when Hurricane Donna was headed towards New England, my mother made my brother and me go to school because nothing was announced on the radio about school closings.  No sooner had we gotten there (we were nearly the only kids at school besides a handful of teachers) when my mother had to turn around and pick us up because the hurricane was headed right in our direction.

My mother was also of the mind that you could fool your body into thinking you weren’t sick.  If we even started to feel a little puny, she said the best thing for us was to take a shower and get dressed because if we lay around in our pajamas, we’d surely feel sicker.  Believe it or not, it nearly always worked.  Even as an adult, I’ve followed the example of my father.  I don’t want to talk about it; I just want to suck it up and get over it with as little fuss as possible.  I’m not advocating self diagnosis when you have no clue what’s wrong with you.  I just don’t like it when people dwell on every little pain and illness, telling you every detail of what the doctor said and every pill they have to take.  Just do what you need to do and get on with it.

Our government is sick, and I don’t think we need a doctor to tell us what’s wrong.  Nobody is listening to each other; no one is listening to the people.  Isn’t this supposed to be government of the people, by the people, and for the people?  This debt crisis has been a fiasco, but it’s not the only thing that’s been a huge problem.  We’ve gotten to the point that neither party wants the other party’s ideas to succeed because it might affect their election hopes.  Senate minority leader, Mitch McConnell said, after President Obama was elected, “The single most important thing we want to achieve is for President Obama to be a one-term president.”  Seriously?  I would think the most important thing to achieve is to get America back to work and to get us fiscally responsible once again.

I have little hope (make that none) that we as a country can ever get back to the greatness we once enjoyed until we make it clear to our leaders that it is all about us, not them.  How do we do that?  I don’t really know, but I know we, the people, are the key.  I’m at the point of voting everyone out and starting all over again.  I don’t care what party they’re from.  If we keep voting the same people in over and over again, we’ll keep getting the same terrible results.  We are the physicians and our patient is sick.  We need potent medicine.

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Name That Tune

Posted on August 3, 2011 by Coming East

Crepe paper streamers dangled at the entrance to the Passion Pit, the name my brother and I dubbed the finished basement we used for our party room when we were in high school.  It was a misnomer because nothing more passionate than a quick, stolen kiss or two happened during our parties.

Dancing in the Passion Pit

Kids nowadays would yawn at our Saturday night shindigs.  My mother would bring down platters of sloppy joes, her famous potato salad, and chips, and we’d put a stack of  45’s on the stereo and play games and dance.  Occasionally, my brother’s group, the Capsized Three, would perform their signature song, Jamaica Farewell.

The songs we loved can only be heard on golden oldies stations now, of course.  Songs by Frankie Valle and the Four Seasons, the Everly Brothers or Neil Sedaka, and Dion and the Belmonts.

My 45’s are long gone and I gave all my LP’s to my brother because I no longer have a turntable.  I’ve missed hearing those songs and artists.  That is, until…Pandora!  My daughter and son-in-law introduced us to Pandora Internet radio (pandora.com) when they visited last month.  I can create my own “radio stations” by typing in a particular artist or song.  Pandora will play songs by that artist and similar artists.  I have the option of giving a thumbs down for any song or artist I don’t like.  I also can choose to hear one particular artist exclusively, and I can create as many of these “radio stations” as I want.  I have a jazz station with musicians like Dave Brubeck, a folk music group with singers like Ian and Sylvia, the Kingston Trio, and Peter, Paul, and Mary.  And the cost of all this?  Free!  Yes, I get forty hours a month free.  If I run over that, I can pay 99 cents for the rest of the month until the next month of free music.

I don’t know how they do it.  What a treat it is for me to listen to a concert of Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, and Judy Collins.  Did you know that Linda Ronstadt sounds so much like Joan Baez when she sings folk songs?  I didn’t until Pandora chose those early songs of hers to include on my Judy Collins station.  You can get Pandora on your smart phone and plug it into your car’s auxiliary connection and hear the music through your car speakers.  At home I hook my Nook (an e-reader) to an external speaker and play Pandora through it.  Blue Ray players now give you the capability of playing Pandora.

Okay, everyone who is reading this must be saying, “Where has she been?  Pandora’s been around for awhile.”  I tend to be oblivious to new things until they become old things, so you’ll have to forgive me.  I have to wonder, though, how Pandora affects the music industry.  Just like book stores and video stores going out of business left and right, CD sales have to be down, too, because of iTunes and programs like Pandora.  What’s next?  As for me, I’ve got to scoot; I have a date with the Highwaymen.

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Kill Yourself, If You Must, But Leave Me Alone!

Posted on August 2, 2011 by Coming East

Last week one of my sons came down from Boston a couple of days early to get some beach time before we left town and met up with other family members for my niece’s wedding.  I’d been looking forward to that beach day with my son for several months.  My husband took the day off, we packed up all our beach paraphernalia, loaded up the little SUV and headed to the Oceanfront.  Wispy cirrus clouds spattered the clear blue sky.

If you’ve ever been a beach goer, you know the production of schlepping all your stuff from the car, dragging it across the hot sand, staking your spot, laying the beach towels or blanket down, setting up your chairs, and anchoring your beach umbrella securely in the sand.  Once you are firmly ensconced in your spot, you ain’t moving until it’s time to go home.

You should be able to breathe deeply and smell the fresh sea air...and only the fresh sea air.

So it was with some dismay as I watched a couple with a young daughter of about six set up their chairs right in front of us.  No, it wasn’t that they blocked my view.  Let’s face it; summer on Virginia Beach is packed, so it’s pointless to get upset about someone parking their things in front of you.  What had me steaming was this man had the nerve to pull out a cigarette and light it, sending nasty smoke in my direction.  Because the breeze comes off the ocean during the day, unless I picked up and moved, the cigarette smoke was going to keep coming in my direction.  As my lungs felt the effects, I coughed loudly, hoping the inconsiderate man would realize how his smoke was making me suffer, but he was oblivious to its effects.

I know that people who smoke get angry when people complain about their smoking in public places.  Yes, smoking has been banned in restaurants in Virginia, but there is no law against smoking outside, they point out.  I, however, feel my right to breathe air not fouled by cancer causing cigarette smoke trumps their right to smoke in my vicinity. Studies show that secondary smoke kills.  If they want to continue their nasty habit, by all means they should be able to do so–in the privacy of their own home.  Let them close their windows and doors and sit in smoky bliss to their hearts content.  Actually, their hearts probably won’t be too content, but that’s beside the point.  But what of that precious little girl?  Where are her rights?

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A Jumble of Emotions

Posted on August 1, 2011 by Coming East

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you might be wondering why I haven’t posted anything new in quite awhile.  We just returned from my niece’s wedding.  I had good intentions of trying to keep up posting while we were gone, but they flew out the window as all our family began to arrive.  The last thing I wanted to do was to sit in the hotel typing away while everyone was enjoying each other’s company.

We have been anticipating this event for months.  It was like a family and friends reunion with people arriving from all over the country.  The morning of the ceremony, I had the joy of having a “girly” morning at the salon with my daughter, who was one of the bridesmaids, the matron of honor and her daughter the flower girl, my sister-in-law, the mother of the bride, and of course, the bride, my beautiful niece.  We had mimosas and scones and laughed and talked all morning.  What a fabulous start to what was a fabulous day!

My niece looked like a fairy-tale princess, and the handsome groom couldn’t have been a more dashing Prince Charming.   I sat next to my sister-in-law and we squeezed hands as we watched K. walk down the aisle on the arm of my brother.  The wad of tissues I held in my hand came in quite handy.  The reception was animated with conversation, tender speeches, and dancing.  Before we knew it, it was over and we returned to the hotel.  We hung out in our room with our family to recap the weekend, no one wanting the evening to end and our time together to be over.

Sunday we met over my brother’s house for brunch before taking our three kids, daughter-in-law and granddaughter to the airport.  It was hard to say good-bye knowing it will be months before we see each other again.  Isn’t that the way it is with momentous events like this?  You are on such a high for so long, anticipating all being together and sharing in such an important time.  You can’t get enough of each other, and then, before you know it, the magic moment ends, everyone returns home, and you have a hard time being without each other again.  What took months and months of planning is over in the twinkling of an eye.  But we are left with beautiful memories.  Oh, and now I have a new nephew who is going to help me build a potting bench for my garden.  That’s a bonus.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Colorful

Posted on July 27, 2011 by Coming East

Kayaks in Rockport, MA harbor

Another view of kayaks in Rockport Harbor

Vendors on Times Square

Wall inside lobby of Christie's Auction House in NYC

Mural of the Algonquin Round Table at the Algonquin Hotel

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About Loss

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Coming East

This post comes from a weekly memoir writing prompt provided by The Red Dress Club:  Write a post that either starts or ends with the words “Lesson learned.” Word limit: 400 words.

 

Sitting on our front porch watching the movers load the van with our belongings, I lamented those things that wouldn’t be coming with me in our move halfway across the country.  Three weeks before, burglars had broken into our house and stolen all my jewelry.  I could describe each piece in detail, telling you who gave it to me and for what occasion.  The tiny silver heart etched with my initials in dainty script letters my grandfather had given me for my seventh birthday,  an ankle I.D. bracelet my brother gave me when we were still in high school,  the gold locket my father gave my mother before he went to the South Pacific during World War II with their pictures inside and a love note engraved on the back.

Numerous other pieces were stolen, all with a story, and so many from people whom I loved dearly and are no longer here.  I had been excited about our move, quite an adventure for us at our age, but the recent burglary had left me angry and sad.  As I was watching the movers carry load after load from the house to the van, my neighbor came and sat next to me on the bench. She told me how much she was going to miss having us in the neighborhood.   Her son Taylor had been killed by a drunk driver the year before.  My husband and I had gone to their house and sat with them and let them cry and talk.

I asked her how she and her husband and other son, Mike, were doing.  Mike had been a student in my English class a few years before, and I knew how he had worshipped his older brother.  She said they just take one day at a time and try to get through it.  I said, “It’s hard to believe Taylor’s been gone for over a year now.”  She replied, “He’s been gone fourteen months, two weeks, and four days.”  A mother would know.  We both sat there in silence, thinking about the emptiness in that statement.

After my neighbor left, there was a little voice in my head that said, “You want to talk about loss?  Now there’s loss!”  I felt ashamed that I had let my loss drag me down for weeks when my sweet neighbors had to endure a lifetime of missing Taylor.

I can’t say that I don’t think about all those stolen jewelry pieces and get sad sometimes and angry because of the way they were taken from me, but I don’t dwell on it and now have no trouble putting it into perspective.  My neighbor, without knowing it, taught me about loss.  Lesson learned.

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I Helped Bring Down A Company

Posted on July 25, 2011 by Coming East

Not many years ago, my husband and I were lamenting how the big chain bookstores were putting the small, independent bookstores out of business.  How could the small business owners possibly compete with those corporate giants?  The Twig, a cute little bookstore nestled into a corner on Broadway in Alamo Heights, a small town within the city limits of San Antonio, could order any book we wanted, if it wasn’t already on the shelf, and we chose to support them for awhile instead of going to Borders or Barnes and Noble.  I don’t know if the Twig is still there since we no longer live in Texas, but I have to tell you, we slowly gravitated to the larger chains because they had more on the shelves we could access immediately without waiting, they had more variety, they had bargain books galore, better sales, a coffee shop, and longer hours, including being open on Sundays.  The chains thrived with our and others patronage.

So it was with some sadness that my husband and I read that Borders is closing its doors forever.   Our Borders store is within walking distance, and I have enjoyed walking up there and perusing the shelves.  However, I have to say that I seldom bought anything in the past year.  Yes, I enjoy reading as much as ever, but I bought a Nook recently, an e-reader, and I’m loving it.  I have no more room on my bookshelves for more books.  Besides, for the most part, once I’ve read a book, I have no desire to read it again.  Okay, I have to admit I’ve read the Lord of the Rings trilogy three times already, though each reading has been about twenty years apart.  With my Nook, I don’t accumulate books that take up room I don’t have.  Plus, I can get my book immediately.  I also can get the classics for free, or nearly free, because they are in public domain.  I can’t do that at the bookstore.

Technology has made books even more readily accessible, and it is slowly changing the publishing business.  Right now I’m reading a novel by a current author who offered her e-book for free.  It hasn’t even been offered in print. Will publishing houses be more willing to try out new authors in the e-book format without risking all the high costs of expensive runs of books which might not sell?  If the e-book is a hit, they might take on that author for a print run, knowing he or she had a following.  I don’t know how all this will play out, but I do know that things are changing, and companies that can’t or won’t keep up, are destined for a fall.  In fact, it’s not enough to just keep up.  They have to be able to project the changes and prepare for them, something Borders was not quick enough to do.  Yes, they finally came up with an e-reader of their own, but it was too little, too late.  Amazon, with its Kindle, and Barnes and Noble, with its Nook, were way ahead of them.

Don’t get me wrong.  I still love books, real books.  I can’t imagine enjoying poetry nearly as much on an e-reader.  Poetry is something I want to read over, and over, and over again, savoring every word.  I need to see it formatted on the page, and formatting is sometimes an issue with e-readers.  Some books are too unwieldy for me to want to have on an e-reader.  For example, I’m reading Mark Twain’s autobiography, a massive volume, that came out last fall.  In order to make use of all the notes and enjoy close examination of the pictures, I like having the printed version.  But if I want a quick read, a Patterson or a Piccoult, the e-version is just fine.

I feel sorry that so many people are going to lose their jobs as a result of Borders closing.  I will miss walking to that big bookstore, maybe to grab a magazine and sit outside with my iced latte from its coffee shop.  It will be interesting to see what the publishing business looks like ten years down the road.  I’m sorry, Borders, if I contributed to your demise. I assure you, it was inadvertent.

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Where Did Those Memories Go?

Posted on July 22, 2011 by Coming East

This week’s Red Dress Club‘s Red Writing Hood prompt is  a picture prompt about cameras, and it is limited to 400 words.
It can be fiction or non-fiction.  I chose non-fiction.

 

Nineteen fifty-nine was an important year.  Alaska and Hawaii became states, Fidel Castro came to power in Cuba, the Guggenheim Museum opened in New York City, Barbie was introduced to the world, and I got my first camera, a little Kodak Brownie.

I have been intrigued with photography ever since I saw my first disks of Hawaii and Belgium on my View-Master.  I wanted to one day take pictures like that, vivid images (of course they were in 3-D, but what did my little ten-year-old mind know?) that made the viewer feel as if he or she were right there watching the lava flow from a volcano or standing in front of the Grand Place in Brussels.

My father was quite a good amateur photographer and had rolls upon rolls of negatives in little canisters.  His favorite subject was my mother, and no wonder, for she was a beauty, for sure.  I, on the other hand, was less selective.  Anything and everything was worthy of my snapping a picture and capturing it forever.  At least until my father noticed I was going through film as if it were as cheap as gasoline and told me I was responsible for the developing costs and the cost of new film.  I got serious.  I saved my photo ops for occasions like going to the Museum of Natural History in New York City with my father or to the United Nations, or visiting my cousins on summer vacations in Ohio.

I remember the anticipation I felt with every new roll, threading the end of it onto the spool, closing the camera, and then advancing the film until the number one appeared in a little window.  Now I had twelve pictures I could take.  Twelve opportunities I didn’t want to squander, so I took my time and picked my subjects as if they were going to be on the cover of Life magazine.

I have albums and albums filled with pictures I’ve taken as well as many trays of slides, but none of them are from those early years when I got my first camera.  Where did those pictures go?  I can’t imagine that I would have thrown them away, but they are nowhere to be found.  Along with their disappearance are the memories they captured. As I get older, I find it more difficult to recapture the past.  I sometimes wish I could be injected with truth serum that would resurrect my childhood, allowing me to see it with clarity.  Those pictures would have been a good substitute.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Hot

Posted on July 21, 2011 by Coming East

Just heard the weather report for the next few days.  The heat index today is 110 degrees.  Tomorrow it will be 117 degrees.  Can you feel the heat sizzling off the sand in this picture?

My hometown: Virginia Beach

Okay, so I still think my husband is really hot. The topic was broad.

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These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Posted on July 20, 2011 by Coming East

I always loved that song Julie Andrews sang in The Sound of Music.  You know the one about her favorite things?

I was thinking about that the other day as I was going through drawers and closets to find things for one of the local charities that is sending its collection truck around soon.  I am not a pack rat by any means.  We have small closets, no basement, and little storage space, so I have to be selective in what I keep.  I have a hard and fast rule when it comes to clothes:  If I haven’t worn something in two years, it needs to go.

Some things, however, I find I just can’t part with.  For example, I have this fur jacket that was my mother’s.  It’s made of mouton lamb, totally out of fashion and has been for decades.  It used to be a full-length coat when my mother purchased it in the ’40’s during the War.   She was a little Kentucky girl who had eloped with a New York city boy, a dashing lieutenant she had met at a USO dance in Dayton, Ohio.  A few weeks later my dad was shipped off to the South Pacific and his parents sent for his new bride.  She had never been to New York City before, and my grandparents had never had a daughter, so they couldn’t wait to meet her and take her shopping.  My mother had saved her money from her job as a secretary and bought the coat at Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue.  She felt like a million bucks in that coat.  When I was in high school, she had the coat made into a jacket so I could wear it over my formals when I went to Cotillion.  I felt like a million bucks in it, too.

That old coat has hung in my closet for years, taking up valuable space.   It has broken my hard and fast rule twenty times over.  Yet, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.  Think I’ll leave that task for my daughter after my roll is called up yonder.

I also have a pastry blender that was my mother’s.  The red paint’s nearly worn off the handle and the tines are bent and crooked.  I have a perfectly good newer one, but I’d rather use that old one because I remember my mother using it all the time when she made pie crusts and biscuits.  She was amazing at both and never needed a recipe.  With every pass I make through the flour and shortening with that old pastry blender, I’m infusing my cobbler, or pie, or biscuits with memories.  They taste better that way. 

We all have our favorite things we find it hard to part with, things that other people would look at and wonder why we hang onto.  That’s what has kept me from throwing out a threadbare pair of jeans of my husband’s or a T-shirt he has worn in every vacation picture for the past fifteen years.  It’s not my call.  What are the things you treasure?

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