The Anecdotal Life Part. 115
My last blog was Oct. 17th.. how embarrassing. However, "given the diffugulties" quite understandable since it's been a parade of events. On September 26th, give or take a day or two, my son-in-law, sailed off the back step and I and my son Eric spent 41 days driving in and out of D.C. trying to be an effective advocates for Stephen who was dealing with a squashed foot and unbeknownst to us all, until the last week in the rehab center, a badly damaged knee. My former father-in-law, would have shaken his head and said affectionately,"well, you bunged a hole in the oilpan this time, didn't ya Maudie?" I really loved that man's sense of humor, but I did not repeat that line to Stephen for the simple reason that his formidable, resilient and determined forward motion toward good health was better not disturbed and it would have been unfair in the teeth of such resolve. Besides, when I remember tripping over the gas cap on the boat and falling on my head to the dock or a friend telling me how he fell down a flight of stairs and really messed up his right arm, well, what have we to say in terms of chiding anyone? These things leave their mark though. Hopefully, for the good, at the least, not to be repeated.
Events like this change many things. One of the better changes came about in my ability to speak up when need be to make sure his care remained topnotch. I was never alone in these matters. Innumerable friends showed up and sat and talked and walked with us through the hell of ICU for two and a half weeks; took over on days when we wore out or couldn't be there for a half a day. The staff we were surrounded by blew my mind in terms of human understanding and expertise.
A lesser but positive change occurred in my driving which had been taking a slow slide into cowardice and I had been relegating myself to 65 miles per hour in the right hand lane. Well, you can forget that. Try mingling with the type of driver that D.C. breeds and maintain that attitude. Sheer fury turns one around and give impetus to better driving skills for much needed self preservation. It is easy to spot the D.C. troublesome driver. I have developed my own "profiling" criteria. Black cars, big or little, but mainly bigger with darkened windows so that I couldn't even give them the bird with any kind of satisfaction. How irritating. Be that as it may, as I watched these guys...maybe ladies... I realized they weren't kidding. They did not give a rap
whether I survived their "shenanigans".... a euphemism for very menacing behaviors. I always thought Jersey City, New Jersey had a real streak of nastiness among it's drivers, but I don't think they would have been happy to see me dead. Some D.C."shenanigans" included ejecting in teams of four, five or six cars the minute traffic semi-cleared to barrel east on U.S 50 in and out of four lanes "doing ninety", or pulling out from behind me as I waited in the left hand turn lane for the light to turn green, then pushing up beside me while occupying what should have been the opposing lane , deciding I wasn't worth the trouble and shooting across an active and consequently shocked intersection full of vehicles moving horizontally in front of me. I am proud to say I didn't pass out with fear, made my left turn as the light turned green, and realized they got what they wanted... that being ... for everyone to get out of their way with no pretty please to it. So I drive differently. I realize a little aggression is good, but sometimes the last thing you should do. I drive faster now, scooting around more confidently and enjoying it more.
I realize this paragraph is not connected to the proceeding, but it was a conversation that I had with a relatives while biding time in the hospital waiting room in which the complaint was about the mess "occupiers" were making near their office. It is a little funny that people think a protest should be neat or well thought out and organized better. In new or revolutionary art it is up to the observers to figure out to some degree what is being seen or heard. But these are not artists nor articulate people particularly. In Woodstock, all the music was not necessarily good, nor the messages clear and what a vainglorious mess that was. It took eleven million dollars to clean up. But they did have something to say and the right to say it. These occupiers feel somethings wrong with the money being all at the top and can , it seems, do no more than sit down on the ground and be stubborn about leaving until someone figures out what to do about it. Have we forgotten that they have a right to protest? Thank God we all do in this country without being shot down or disappearing into some hideous jail for speaking out. The people who were being sprayed in California were sitting cross legged and quietly with hands over their heads. It was not a picture to be proud of here in America.
Now, having stuck my neck out, I am thinking of the piles of boxes in the living room, the little Christmas villages I have not completed, wondering how to pry the piece of candy cane out from under the paws of my usually most docile cat. Will I make it by Christmas? Well, I usually do. I love all you people on my list and wish and pray for your merriest and dearest time during this holiday season however you celebrate it. Thank goodness we get to do that and we have some guys and gals coming home who fought for that right for us and for others that we need to thank.
Copyright: December 17th, 2011
Events like this change many things. One of the better changes came about in my ability to speak up when need be to make sure his care remained topnotch. I was never alone in these matters. Innumerable friends showed up and sat and talked and walked with us through the hell of ICU for two and a half weeks; took over on days when we wore out or couldn't be there for a half a day. The staff we were surrounded by blew my mind in terms of human understanding and expertise.
A lesser but positive change occurred in my driving which had been taking a slow slide into cowardice and I had been relegating myself to 65 miles per hour in the right hand lane. Well, you can forget that. Try mingling with the type of driver that D.C. breeds and maintain that attitude. Sheer fury turns one around and give impetus to better driving skills for much needed self preservation. It is easy to spot the D.C. troublesome driver. I have developed my own "profiling" criteria. Black cars, big or little, but mainly bigger with darkened windows so that I couldn't even give them the bird with any kind of satisfaction. How irritating. Be that as it may, as I watched these guys...maybe ladies... I realized they weren't kidding. They did not give a rap
whether I survived their "shenanigans".... a euphemism for very menacing behaviors. I always thought Jersey City, New Jersey had a real streak of nastiness among it's drivers, but I don't think they would have been happy to see me dead. Some D.C."shenanigans" included ejecting in teams of four, five or six cars the minute traffic semi-cleared to barrel east on U.S 50 in and out of four lanes "doing ninety", or pulling out from behind me as I waited in the left hand turn lane for the light to turn green, then pushing up beside me while occupying what should have been the opposing lane , deciding I wasn't worth the trouble and shooting across an active and consequently shocked intersection full of vehicles moving horizontally in front of me. I am proud to say I didn't pass out with fear, made my left turn as the light turned green, and realized they got what they wanted... that being ... for everyone to get out of their way with no pretty please to it. So I drive differently. I realize a little aggression is good, but sometimes the last thing you should do. I drive faster now, scooting around more confidently and enjoying it more.
I realize this paragraph is not connected to the proceeding, but it was a conversation that I had with a relatives while biding time in the hospital waiting room in which the complaint was about the mess "occupiers" were making near their office. It is a little funny that people think a protest should be neat or well thought out and organized better. In new or revolutionary art it is up to the observers to figure out to some degree what is being seen or heard. But these are not artists nor articulate people particularly. In Woodstock, all the music was not necessarily good, nor the messages clear and what a vainglorious mess that was. It took eleven million dollars to clean up. But they did have something to say and the right to say it. These occupiers feel somethings wrong with the money being all at the top and can , it seems, do no more than sit down on the ground and be stubborn about leaving until someone figures out what to do about it. Have we forgotten that they have a right to protest? Thank God we all do in this country without being shot down or disappearing into some hideous jail for speaking out. The people who were being sprayed in California were sitting cross legged and quietly with hands over their heads. It was not a picture to be proud of here in America.
Now, having stuck my neck out, I am thinking of the piles of boxes in the living room, the little Christmas villages I have not completed, wondering how to pry the piece of candy cane out from under the paws of my usually most docile cat. Will I make it by Christmas? Well, I usually do. I love all you people on my list and wish and pray for your merriest and dearest time during this holiday season however you celebrate it. Thank goodness we get to do that and we have some guys and gals coming home who fought for that right for us and for others that we need to thank.
Copyright: December 17th, 2011
posted by The Anecdotal Life at 7:54 AM
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