from the porches

Car Saga, Part 2

The above photograph is not a picture of my Acadia.  Clearly, the license plate says 'Dealer'.  So why is it parked in my carport? 

I woke up at 4:30 this morning, not wanting to oversleep because I needed to be in Lake City at Ronsonet Buick by 8:00.  I dozed in and out and finally at 5:30 A.M. I told myself to get up, shower, and get dressed.  I was anxious because I knew I had to drive my Acadia through school zones and stop at many stop lights, and turn right on red if need be.  I wanted to give myself enough time to arrive at the car dealership by 8:00 A.M. just in case my car stalled. 

While on the road, I breathed in and exhaled to calm myself.  If my car suddenly shut off during a school zone or at a red light or while turning right on red, I would have a slew of early morning drivers shouting expletives at me, or possibly rear ending me.  But, I made it safe and sound to my destination.

I took a book to read and a crossword puzzle book to occupy my couple of hours wait, if need be.  HA!  While the mechanic worked on my Acadia, I waited and waited and waited and waited.  My back grew stiff sitting so long; therefore, I would occasionally walk to the picture window and watch cars, log trucks, and police cars zipping along Highway 90.  "Lord, Almighty," I muttered.  I moaned and I groaned for almost four hours, when finally  . . . yes, finally, my car was fixed.  I had other things checked out in my Acadia as well.  Tires rotated, oil changed, filters changed, and alas, my beloved car was fixed; plus, I was starving because I had not eaten breakfast before I left home.  I figured two hours top, then on to Hardees for the breakfast platter.  Boy, was I wrong!

I wrote the check for service done and exhaled one big exhale, climbed into my car, and drove out to Highway 90.  I accelerated and the car moved about four feet and then the unbelievable happened.  My car shut down!  "NO!"  I screamed.  Luckily, no traffic was headed near me, so I threw the gear into park and restarted the engine. Then I threw the gear into reverse and backed two lanes back into the Ronsonet Buick parking lot.

I pushed open the service door, my hands shaking and voice quivering.  I was on the verge of tears and the personnel knew that.  "It did it again!" I blurted out.  "I could have been killed!"  Immediately,  the fellow who serviced my Acadia was summoned and he said,  "I drove it to the airport this morning and it didn't stall on me."  What kind of look do you think I gave him.  Not a pretty one, I'll tell you.  "Fix it!  I need my car!"

Then I told the office personnel I needed food, not candy bars or Cheetos.  So one of the car salesmen drove me two blocks to Shirley's Restaurant for a home-cooked meal.  A friend of mine called and said she would gladly pick me up and take me home; but that wasn't solving my car problem, so I declined and said I would wait until the car was fixed.

I walked back to Ronsonet Buick after lunch, all along, fearful that someone might snatch my purse off of my shoulder (I'm a big scaredy cat), but I made the three blocks back safely.  Then I sat and sat and sat and watched Dr. Martin Luther King's speech multiple times on TV.  I was mentally and physically exhausted because, by now, I had been there for six hours.

Finally, I was told it might take several days of running many tests on my Acadia to solve its problem.  Technical support from GMC faxed a long list of things the mechanic was to perform.  Ronsonet Buick gave me a loaner car (at a small cost per day of course) . . . the Buick Encore in the photographs.

Now, here is the strange part.  I love this little Buick Encore and might try to negotiate a deal to purchase this and get rid of my Acadia. The Encore is pretty little black thing, uses regular gas, gets great gas mileage, has the screen that shows if anything is behind you when backing up.  She has On*Star and XM radio and other features I haven't figured out yet.  I almost named her.  You can tell I like this car because I've already assigned her a gender.  But, I felt safe this afternoon driving home, where I immediately collapsed. It was a very long day! 

P.S. Mom and I ate canned chicken noodle soup for supper because I didn't have another muster- up in my soul.

 

an old friend, calamity, and inspiration

This morning  I had one of Advent Glass Works ex-employees drive me to Jacksonville to pick up Clay from a rehab facility.  Originally, the facility was going to shuttlebus Clay back to Lake City; but the paperwork was never filed.  When I got the call yesterday afternoon that I had to drive to Jacksonville, I went into full panic mode.  Gainesville is often overwhelming to me.  Heck, even Hwy. 90 in Lake City. 

Bruce Spencer and I had marvelous conversation during the drive.  We talked about grandchildren and how smart they are and what did we ever do without that special love we have for the grandchildren.  Bruce asked me about golf and I told him I wasn't playing anymore.  We talked about dementia and older parents and about missing the good old times when the studio was up and running and making beautiful stained glass windows.  Eventually, the conversation turned toward "writing".

That's when we really started to bond.  Bruce told me about a book he wants to write.  I told him  about reading http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12543.Bird_by_Bird. I talked about the freckled-face dumpster kid named Charlie whom I was always going write a story about.  I told him about index cards and how, during idle times, jot down notes.  Arrange them eventually by categories: dress, scenery, actions.  Just observe.

We finally arrived in Jacksonville, crossed over the bridge to Atlantic Blvd, and was heading toward the rehab facility.  We whipped into a McDonalds for a potty break and that's when it happened.  My Acadia sputtered and died.  OH NO!  Bruce was able to get the vehicle started again and then we crossed four lanes of traffic and I prayed the car would run.  It didn't.  Cars honked for us to move on, but my car wouldn't start.  The Acadia inched a foot and died again. 

I pulled out my AAA card and dialed their number.  I was so flustered that when AAA offered extentions to press, I realized I had not heard a word the recording menu said.  BREATHE!  Bruce kept calm through this, but I was a living mess.  Eventually, the Acadia started and we slowly pulled into the rehab facility.  By now it was 10:15.  We sat in the waiting room for an hour and a half before Clay was released.  The people in this facility is a whole new story.  Too bad I didn't have my index cards with me. . . but they are imprinted on my brain.  Clay walked out, we hugged and were prepared for the next event.  The drive home.

 We made it home with no more stalling by my Acadia.  Only, this time, the AC unit would not put out cold air in the front seats, only the rear.  Bruce and I continued to pretend things were normal; but we both decided I needed to take my vehicle to Ronsonet Buick in Lake City asap.  I have an appointment at 8:00 A.M. sharp tomorrow morning . . .that is, providing my car decides to cooperate.

Even though the trip to Jacksonville was bittersweet, I had a wonderful day filled with love for Bruce and his willingness to help me.  And let me not forget the inspiration I came home with.

 

Brain/stroke

I am reading the most fascinating book entitled My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor, Phd.  (Sorry, I tried to insert information, but my computer froze.)  Dr. Taylor is a brain scientist and this book tells of her stroke and her journey in overcoming the stroke.

Parts of the book are so overwhelmingly left-brained and detailed with vocabulary I do not understand, so I skimmed over those parts.  What I did find interesting is that any hemmoraging on the brain is classified as a stroke.  Dr. Taylor was very left-brained just like Truett.  Analytical, compartmentalized, etc.  When her stroke happened, the only thing she was left with was her right hemisphere of the brain trying to compensate for words she couldn't recall, for details, etc.

As Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor takes us through her journey through rehabilatation, she was asked to repeat three words several minutes after other questions were asked of her.  She had difficulty, just as Truett did.  She could not recall facts because the left hemisphere of her brain was embedded with blood.  Her right hemisphere allowed her to see pictures, even though her speech was impeded.  I remember Truett being asked to repeat words or to tell the rehab workers what time it was; and he had difficulty with this time and again. 

Even though Truett had a tumor rupture, blood spewed onto his analytical, left hemisphere of the brain.  I kept saying, "He didn't have a stroke."  But the doctors categorize blood on the brain as a stroke.

When Dr. Taylor was asked who was President, she tried desperately to see from her right hemisphere a picture of the President; although she couldn't remember his name because that came from the left hemisphere, the compartmentalized analytical hemisphere.  Truett was asked many times during rehab, "Who is President?"  He tried hard to remember; but guess what.  His right hemisphere only saw a picture of an African American, even though he didn't remember the President's name.

My Stroke of Insight, by Jill Bolte Taylor is a must read for anyone who has lived with a stroke victim. 

http://www.mystrokeofinsight.com/index.html

By the way, Dr. Taylor got into brain research because her brother was diagnosed a schizophrenic.  Another similarity at one time in our life.

Go Gators!

 

On Being a Buddhist

I was speaking to my twin recently and she mentioned the word Buddhism.  I told her I was a Buddhist once.  "Really?  I didn't know that," Sherry said.  "Tell me about it.  Better yet, put it in a blog.  No.  Tell me about it."  Then I told her I would put it in a blog.

It all started back in the late 60's before I met Truett.  I was divorced from my first husband and I rented a playhouse which was bigger that many houses here in Fort White.  I drove an old car and worked at a bank during the summers, down in the dungeon  . . . counting filthy money by hand.  I didn't have much of a social life; but, one day a co-worker asked me to join her at her Buddhist meeting.  So I went.  At the meeting, I witnessed one young wheel-chair bound man rise and walk ten steps after chanting, of course.  I was quite impressed.  I witnessed an elderly woman speak for the first time after being mute.

Being raised a Methodist, I was quite impressed and began to believe that Buddhism was for me.  I attended several weekly meetings at this family's home and paid them $20.00 each time to place at the altar.  I was given a mantra and felt all was well in the world

By now the school year had begun and I was teaching.  Every morning I awoke at 4:30 A.M. and chanted . . . and chanted . . .  and chanted.  Do you know what I chanted for?  You guessed it . . . $$$!  Well, the chanting worked.  One early morning as I was reading the newspaper before getting ready for school, I saw a half-page ad in the Louisville Courier Journal.  SELL AVON!  and I knew my chanting and my prayers were answered.

So where is all of this leading?  I became an Avon representative.  I earned $57 more a month and I had too many Avon customers.  I was wearing myself out.  But, that's still not the point.  I decided to have a male Avon party.  (Boy, was that gutsy of me.  I wouldn't do it in today's time on my life).  But, back then, in the late '60's I made a killing off of that one male party; and I met one terrific man, who ultimately introduced me to Truett George, Jr.

Voila!  So you never ever really know until a circle is completed.

 

 

SWEET

 As I reflect upon my teaching career, I am reminded of my growth as an elementary educator.  In the beginning, in 1965, I thought, "This is fun."  But as the school years wore down, and as I longed for freedom for 365 days a year, I thought maybe there might be a different career for me.  But, I kept on teaching because I had summers off.  Every year I swore I would quit; but that's because of my ignorance.

 I believe my fifth year of teaching was when I came to the realization that I was supposed to teach children . . . not just curriculum.  What an eye-opener for me.  Somehow, by Divine Inspiration, I suddenly saw children as little humans that needed guidance, direction, LOVE, support and a darn good teacher.  (I did lapse I will admit,  when I taught sixth graders when the students' hormones were greater than my compassion).  But, that's a different story.  If I see some of those ex-sixth graders in town or in Lake City, the first thing I ask is, "Was I nice?"  because I didn't feel nice back then.

 Today I was cleaning out my house filing cabinet.  I saw memories and memories of some of my most challenging classes.  My most challenging classes were of a group of children who were in my S.W.E.E.P's. class.  That stood for Success While Educating Every Pupil. Of course, there were criteria for the students to be placed in my small class of students.  Originally, fifteen was the limit, but somehow, the class size grew to twenty to twenty-five.  It was basically a drop-out prevention program funded by the state and school district.

 Everything I believed about educating students flew out the window like bats in a belfry. These remarkable individuals didn't learn the way most students did.  Some were geniuses.  Others had no familial support.  A few were hand-chosen to be in my class because I was a good teacher.

 These children taught me so much.  They balked at reading and answering worksheet questions.  The first several weeks, their grades were not improving.  Then I began teaching C.R.I.S.S. strategies, and that made a difference. Ultimately, I became a C.R.I.S.S. trainer throughout our county.  Well, with conceptual mapping, the children read a paragraph and drew what they learned.  It worked!  Venn diagrams worked.  Suddenly, my students' grades were climbing from C's, D's, and F's to A's and B's.  In fact, I began rewarding the students with "ice cream socials"  when the whole class achieved  100 A's.  I named them "Century Parties".  Each week, we ate ice cream sundaes. 

Those were some of the most challenging and rewarding days of my teaching career.  And then I discovered "writing";  which made for a perfect ending to my career.  If I had not gone through my filing cabinet today, I may have lost these precious memories of my S.W.E.E.P. classes.  I will tell you most of the students graduated from high school, one works at NASA as I type, others got married and had children.

One year for class photos of my S.W.E.E.P. class, the photogropher misspelled the name of my class.  He listed it as "S.W.E.E.T.S".   Ultimately, I came to  believe this to mean "Success While Educating Every Teacher".  That's funny how that works, isn't it?

 

 

Quirks in My Day

Today was one of those quirky days.  Quirks followed me everywhere I went.  I could tell you about visiting Truett and how when I passed one lady, she started saying and repeated endlessly, "I don't like her to the tenth degree."  Clay pointed at me and I was quite befuddled.  But, I won't bother you with that story.

I could tell you about the elderly lady sitting at Truett's table in the day room and how, out of the periphery of my eye, I saw her pallid, bony fingers reaching for my cell phone on the table.  Of course I snatched my cell phone up quickly and jammed it back in my pocket.  But, I won't bother you with that story either.

No, my friends, I will tell you about dealing with DISH TV.  It all started last night when Mom handed me the universal remote as we were headed to bed.  Evidentally, she mashed a button that should not have been mashed and the TV went off and a blank screen appeared. "That's okay, Mom.  I'll deal with it in the morning."

So, around eight-thirty this morning, I  began fiddling with the remote.  I couldn't get the screen to come on.  The TV came on, but there was no signal.  So, as any annoyed smart person would do, I called DISH.  A pleasant woman answered and said she would walk me through the procedure.  No problem.  She first wanted to know the accout name, the address, the telephone number for the account, and the password.  I told her I didn't have the password and that Truett knew it and that he was in a nursing home in a different town.  She sighed and said, "Okay.  Do what I tell you."  I did everything she told me; but, alas, no connection.  

I got on my knees and checked cords for this DISH lady. I stared at a tangled of sea snake wires behind my TV.  I turned on Mom's TV and woke her up an hour earlier that usual.  Her TV worked, but by now my blood pressure was rising.  The DISH lady told me to use the Sony remote and guided me through procedures.  Nada!  She told me to use the DISH remote . . . and once again nothing.   I had so many remotes beside me at one point I picked up a remote and tried to answer her question, thinking it was my phone. It was now 9:15 a.m. and I needed a drink.  A stiff one at that.

Finally, this pleasant DISH lady told me she was going to transfer me to someone who knew more than she did at troubleshooting.  Which she did.  The second DISH person (you notice I didn't say lady), started off by saying, "What is your name?  What is the name of the person on the account?  What is your phone number?  And finally, I need the security code."

"Mam, I don't know the security code.  I told the other lady I didn't know it and she promptly told me she couldn't help me without the security code."  "Would the word 'birth' mean anything to you as the code?" she asked.  I gave her several four digit birth numbers Truett might have used; but to everyone mentioned, this DISH woman repeated, "No.  No.  No. No."

I finally said, "Can you get a person to come to my home and fix my TV?"  What do you think she wanted from me?  You've got it . . . the security code. She knew by now I not only was rude and irritated, but probably needed a drink!

Eventually, this DISH woman agreed to schedule an appoint for somewhere between 12:00 p.m. and 5:00 p.m.  ( And to my dear teacher friends, could we ever, ever, ever say, "Yes, I might teach your child somewhere between 9:00 and 3:00."  What a crock!

Done!  A man is coming to fix my Dish!  Finally!  Well, Mom got up and I gave her juice and a banana and I told her I needed to calm down.  She said, "Yes, have a drink."  Then she saw me drinking water and she said, "Water is a good drink."  Well, as Mom drank her juice and ate her banana, I collapsed in Truett's green recliner, which, by the way, I never sit in.  But I was exhausted and worn out and still didn't have a TV picture.

Well, miracles do happen.  I spied the "help" button on my universal remote and thought, "Try this."  Is your TV on?  Yes.  Is your receiver on?  Yes.  Is your receiver on?  Yes.  Is your receiver on?  Then I thought "What do I have to lose?"  So I pushed No and Voila!  Magically, Rachel Ray appeared on my TV and I had never been so happy to see her cutting up carrots in my life!

Do you think the story is over?  Nope!  I called DISH back to tell them to cancel the DISH man who was scheduled to come to my home between 12:00 and 5:00.  HA!  The DISH lady said, "Mam, who is the account under?  Where is your address?  What is your telephone number? What is the security code?  I wanted to break some one's neck at that point.  "I don't know the security code.  Just cancel this work order!, or better yet, when he comes, I'll tell him I fixed the TV and I hung up.

Is the story over yet?  No.  Not yet.  As I was driving my mother to get her hair done, I get a cell phone call from guess who?  DISH.  "Are you sure you don't need a technician?"  I said, "I do not need a technician."  Then this voice said can you verify your address, your phone number, the name on the account number and the security code number.

And I did the only sane thing possible at 10:30 a.m.  I hung up!  

Do you have quirky days?

A Visit from Mom

It has been since March 15 that Mom has seen Truett.  I asked her recently if she wanted to visit him.  She thought for a few minutes and said, "Sure, why not."  Truett asks about Mom every time I visit and I relay that message to her.  But, my mom lives in two hour increments.  Wait.  She lives in two hour up and alive and awake and sitting up increments.  Then it's back to rest in her bed for her.  After all, as she says, "I'm 89 years old and I don't want to sit up!"

So Sunday morning Mom and I visited Truett.  It was a sweet visit.  We arrived about 11:45 and he was dressed and in the day room, which I now know is the second floor cafeteria.  Truett had a Louis L'amore book in front of him.  I haven't seen him read in a year; but it looked as if he was trying to muddle through the book. The last I knew when he was home with me, he couldn't read a menu.  I praised him on finding a book and reading it. (?)

Truett was sitting at a round table with three other elderly women.  One woman had her head splayed on the table and told the nurse she had not eaten all day.  The nurses told her she had. The other two elderly women just sat in their wheel chairs and stared at their fingers.  Truett said, "These people are the rudist people I've ever known."  I asked if he was talking about the staff and he answered, "NO!  These hospital patients." 

When Truett saw Mom and I walk into the day room he waved us over.  I gestured toward Mom and his face lit up.  Truett asks about Mom often and I say she is doing well.  I pulled Mom a chair up next to Truett and she rubbed his hands and he rubbed hers.  "How are you doing?" they both asked and both answered, "Good." 

Mom complimented Truett on how well he looked and he told Mom she looked good.  Then the conversation turned toward me and Clay's unruly hair from Clay's visit the day before.  It's sad that Truett cannot accept our visits as a positive thing.  But, that's the way it is.

Mom and I left right before lunch was served because other patients of "the hospital", which Truett , calls it, were coming. 

All in all, it was a decent visit.  Mom will probably not visit again beause of the three hour visit it takes us to drive to Gainesville, visit, and return home.