This is the Town of Troutville's water tower.
These things always fascinate me because they should be obtrusive but half the time I simply don't see them.
They also always make me think of War of the Worlds.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The Water Tower
This is the Town of Troutville's water tower.
These things always fascinate me because they should be obtrusive but half the time I simply don't see them.
They also always make me think of War of the Worlds.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Homeless Woman
The chest pain area of the emergency room at RMH, where I spent Friday night, is away from the rest of the ER. It is quieter there.
The rooms are single beds, very small, divided from the hall with a curtain.
I could hear everything said in the two rooms across from me as if I were standing right next to the bed. I couldn't hear anything said in the room beside me.
In one of the rooms across from me was a woman who was homeless. I know this because sometime before 8 p.m. Friday night the nurse helped her call her sister.
She told her sister that she was the ER with chest pains; she has spent the previous night in one of Roanoke's homeless shelters. She had lived in an apartment but her boyfriend beat her and she left. She had recently been released from a rehab unit somewhere.
I heard her tell her sister this story and I felt very sorry for her.
She needed somewhere to go. It would be late when she received her test results, too late to go to the homeless shelter because it closes it doors at a certain hour, apparently.
Her sister would not come get her. It appeared to me that the nursing staff took it upon themselves to keep her test results in limbo somewhere so that a social worker could see her early the next morning. I am not sure that is the case but the nurses did not want to let the woman go out into the very cold night with no place to go.
During the night the woman woke up upset. She wanted to leave. The nurse told her she could go if she wanted but reminded her that she had no shelter.
After much discussion, some of which included a story about a dream wherein the Lord told the homeless woman she should never go back to the homeless shelter, the nurse gave the woman a sleeping pill and she went back to sleep.
The next morning the social worker was next to useless; she did not offer the woman hardly any assistance from what I heard. The hospital or Social Services gave her a voucher for a ride in a cab to a homeless shelter.
Her test results showed she did have some kind of heart problem. Unlike me, she really did need to be tested since they actually found something. She needed some kind of medication that she told the nurse she could not afford.
All I could think was "there but for the grace of God." I have no idea of this woman's particular circumstances. I know there will be people who will judge her as having made poor choices and perhaps brought this upon herself; my impression was she was just one of those unfortunate souls who do not have much intelligence or common sense but I don't know that to be true. People will tell me that the money I expect to be paying out because of what my insurance won't cover will go to pay for this woman's care.
I know that. I still feel sorry for her. There has to be a better way to take care of people who are down on their luck, whether through poor choices, low IQ or whatever. Maybe this woman's family has some responsibility for her - I know if my brother called me, whatever the time of day, and told me he was in the hospital and needed me, I would drop everything I was doing and go to him. I would do the same thing for pretty much everyone, friends and family alike. But that is just me.
In any event, this woman's circumstances has preyed on my mind for a few days.
We are a mighty nation. Why can't we take care of those among us who really need it? What are we doing wrong?
The rooms are single beds, very small, divided from the hall with a curtain.
I could hear everything said in the two rooms across from me as if I were standing right next to the bed. I couldn't hear anything said in the room beside me.
In one of the rooms across from me was a woman who was homeless. I know this because sometime before 8 p.m. Friday night the nurse helped her call her sister.
She told her sister that she was the ER with chest pains; she has spent the previous night in one of Roanoke's homeless shelters. She had lived in an apartment but her boyfriend beat her and she left. She had recently been released from a rehab unit somewhere.
I heard her tell her sister this story and I felt very sorry for her.
She needed somewhere to go. It would be late when she received her test results, too late to go to the homeless shelter because it closes it doors at a certain hour, apparently.
Her sister would not come get her. It appeared to me that the nursing staff took it upon themselves to keep her test results in limbo somewhere so that a social worker could see her early the next morning. I am not sure that is the case but the nurses did not want to let the woman go out into the very cold night with no place to go.
During the night the woman woke up upset. She wanted to leave. The nurse told her she could go if she wanted but reminded her that she had no shelter.
After much discussion, some of which included a story about a dream wherein the Lord told the homeless woman she should never go back to the homeless shelter, the nurse gave the woman a sleeping pill and she went back to sleep.
The next morning the social worker was next to useless; she did not offer the woman hardly any assistance from what I heard. The hospital or Social Services gave her a voucher for a ride in a cab to a homeless shelter.
Her test results showed she did have some kind of heart problem. Unlike me, she really did need to be tested since they actually found something. She needed some kind of medication that she told the nurse she could not afford.
All I could think was "there but for the grace of God." I have no idea of this woman's particular circumstances. I know there will be people who will judge her as having made poor choices and perhaps brought this upon herself; my impression was she was just one of those unfortunate souls who do not have much intelligence or common sense but I don't know that to be true. People will tell me that the money I expect to be paying out because of what my insurance won't cover will go to pay for this woman's care.
I know that. I still feel sorry for her. There has to be a better way to take care of people who are down on their luck, whether through poor choices, low IQ or whatever. Maybe this woman's family has some responsibility for her - I know if my brother called me, whatever the time of day, and told me he was in the hospital and needed me, I would drop everything I was doing and go to him. I would do the same thing for pretty much everyone, friends and family alike. But that is just me.
In any event, this woman's circumstances has preyed on my mind for a few days.
We are a mighty nation. Why can't we take care of those among us who really need it? What are we doing wrong?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
An Unexpected Journey Part II
Part I is here.
The ambulance arrived at RMH without incident. I hoped to see my husband waiting there for me, but he had not yet arrived.
He is an EMT himself but he was on duty with the City. He was also in a training class and I had asked a nurse at my doctor's office to contact the EMS dispatch and have him tracked down.
They whisked me into Room 10 in the ER and then transferred EKG lines and oxygen lines and other things onto the hospital equipment.
A nurse came in and asked relevant questions. They ran another EKG and asked me how I was feeling.
My chest was still hurting, I said. But not like it was.
I looked up to see my husband standing at the door. He came in while the EMTS were still hooking me up. He thanked them for their service.
He looked shaken to see me there with wires protruding everywhere.
Once things calmed down a bit, I asked if I could go to the restroom. This meant unhooking me but it couldn't be helped.
When I returned, I found my friend whom I was supposed to have met earlier in the hallway with my husband. She had offered to take me to the doctor but I had declined.
She stayed for several hours and then left, still not knowing what was wrong with me.
The doctor entered and said he wanted to do a stress test. This would be a nuclear stress test that involved injecting isotopes into the body while resting and then again while it was under stress. It would take several hours and meant an overnight stay in the Chest Pain Center of the E.R.
It was not a hospital admittance, though. I presume this is for insurance purposes.
At any rate, after that, it was all hurry up and wait. My husband finally left to go collect my car at the doctor's office and to eat lunch/dinner. It was 4 p.m. before I left Room 10 for the Nuclear Lab for my first injection.
Then I went into a small dinky room that would be my new home for the night.
After an hour there, they rolled me back to the Nuclear Lab. I lay on a huge machine that crawled over the heart area, taking pictures. That meant lying perfectly still for about 16 minutes (four songs on the radio plus commercials).
Then it was back to the room. My husband found me and comforted me until I begged him to go home and get some rest. There was no where for him to stay in that room; it was just too small.
He left me reluctantly, with kisses and promises.
The night was long, with much racket and little sleep. I'd been told I would be the first stress test and would start at 6 a.m, but that time came and went.
My husband arrived at 7:45 to find me frustrated because I still hadn't had my stress test.
It would be 11 a.m. before that happened.
The stress test involved climbing on a treadmill and bringing my heart rate up to a certain level. My blood pressure was already up so I knew it wouldn't take much to raise it.
After about nine minutes, they injected more dye. I walked for another minute. They stopped the treadmill and moved me back to the large X-ray machine. Another 16 minutes of being still.
About an hour later, a physicians assistant told me they found nothing. Nothing heart related, anyway.
That was the good news.
The bad news was they still didn't know exactly what was causing my pain, but a previous history of problems with my esophagus and reflux made that seem a likely culprit. However, that was a different doctor and a mystery to be solved on a different day.
And I came home to my bed and my shower, relieved and embarrassed by my fears.
The ambulance arrived at RMH without incident. I hoped to see my husband waiting there for me, but he had not yet arrived.
He is an EMT himself but he was on duty with the City. He was also in a training class and I had asked a nurse at my doctor's office to contact the EMS dispatch and have him tracked down.
They whisked me into Room 10 in the ER and then transferred EKG lines and oxygen lines and other things onto the hospital equipment.
A nurse came in and asked relevant questions. They ran another EKG and asked me how I was feeling.
My chest was still hurting, I said. But not like it was.
I looked up to see my husband standing at the door. He came in while the EMTS were still hooking me up. He thanked them for their service.
He looked shaken to see me there with wires protruding everywhere.
Once things calmed down a bit, I asked if I could go to the restroom. This meant unhooking me but it couldn't be helped.
When I returned, I found my friend whom I was supposed to have met earlier in the hallway with my husband. She had offered to take me to the doctor but I had declined.
She stayed for several hours and then left, still not knowing what was wrong with me.
The doctor entered and said he wanted to do a stress test. This would be a nuclear stress test that involved injecting isotopes into the body while resting and then again while it was under stress. It would take several hours and meant an overnight stay in the Chest Pain Center of the E.R.
It was not a hospital admittance, though. I presume this is for insurance purposes.
At any rate, after that, it was all hurry up and wait. My husband finally left to go collect my car at the doctor's office and to eat lunch/dinner. It was 4 p.m. before I left Room 10 for the Nuclear Lab for my first injection.
Then I went into a small dinky room that would be my new home for the night.
After an hour there, they rolled me back to the Nuclear Lab. I lay on a huge machine that crawled over the heart area, taking pictures. That meant lying perfectly still for about 16 minutes (four songs on the radio plus commercials).
Then it was back to the room. My husband found me and comforted me until I begged him to go home and get some rest. There was no where for him to stay in that room; it was just too small.
He left me reluctantly, with kisses and promises.
The night was long, with much racket and little sleep. I'd been told I would be the first stress test and would start at 6 a.m, but that time came and went.
My husband arrived at 7:45 to find me frustrated because I still hadn't had my stress test.
It would be 11 a.m. before that happened.
The stress test involved climbing on a treadmill and bringing my heart rate up to a certain level. My blood pressure was already up so I knew it wouldn't take much to raise it.
After about nine minutes, they injected more dye. I walked for another minute. They stopped the treadmill and moved me back to the large X-ray machine. Another 16 minutes of being still.
About an hour later, a physicians assistant told me they found nothing. Nothing heart related, anyway.
That was the good news.
The bad news was they still didn't know exactly what was causing my pain, but a previous history of problems with my esophagus and reflux made that seem a likely culprit. However, that was a different doctor and a mystery to be solved on a different day.
And I came home to my bed and my shower, relieved and embarrassed by my fears.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
An Unexpected Journey
It was the ambulance ride that really made me raise my eyebrows.
I had never ridden in one before and there I was, watching I-81 go beneath me while I watched where I'd been instead of where I was going. It was kind of dizzying.
The stretcher was uncomfortable and the truck swayed and hit every bump.
An oxygen line was stuck up my nose. Tubes extended from my body. Things beeped.
The EMT stuck an IV in me and drew blood as we entered Roanoke City. I was headed for RMH.
How did I get in this predicament?
I woke up at 4 a.m. Friday morning having chest pains. Indigestion, I thought. Then I started sweating. A hot flash, I thought.
My jaw hurt. My TMJ, I thought.
My left shoulder hurt. That's from where I pulled it lifting groceries.
I couldn't go back to sleep so I rose and sat at the computer. I felt a little better. My husband left for work.
However, I still wasn't feeling well so I opted out of exercising. I dressed. I tried to eat breakfast but I was queasy and didn't want anything.
I left for my appointment. My chest still hurt. As I drove toward town, I felt lightheaded.
This was no good. I started sweating again. Anxiety, I thought. Stop worrying.
I had an appointment and several places to go. I made the first stop. A friend at the courthouse offered to take me to the doctor when I mentioned I was feeling unwell.
After some discussion and much hemming and hawing on my part, I called and cancelled a meeting with another friend. She offered to come and get me and drive me to the doctor when I told her why I couldn't meet her.
I declined both invitations from my friends and drove myself.
Apparently when you walk in to a medical clinic and say "I'm one of Dr. so-and-so's patients and I'm having chest pains," that is an immediate call to action.
The receptionist sent out an "I need a nurse at the front desk" call and before I knew it five nurses descended upon the waiting area. I was whisked to a triage room where they began hooking me up to monitors.
My doctor came in within two minutes and started checking me out. "Nitro and two aspirin," she said. "Has 911 been called?"
"On their way," someone said.
"No, no," I said. I tried to get up. "I just wanted you to look at me and pat me on the head and tell me I'm okay."
"That's not happening today," my doctor told me as she pushed me back into the reclining thing they'd placed me in.
She asked for my symptoms and I gave them out pretty much as I've written above.
"Why did you wait so long to have this checked?" she asked, stethoscope on my chest, when I said the pain had started at 4 a.m.
"I think it's just indigestion," I replied. By now I was somewhat alarmed.
"It may be but we're not taking a chance," she said.
The EMTs soon arrived. All of this took place in mere moments, certainly not more than 10 minutes. The doctor handed off my information and left the room. That was the last I saw of her.
They loaded me into the truck. And there I was, rolling backwards down the highway.
TO BE CONTINUED....
(Don't worry. I make a comeback in the end.)
I had never ridden in one before and there I was, watching I-81 go beneath me while I watched where I'd been instead of where I was going. It was kind of dizzying.
The stretcher was uncomfortable and the truck swayed and hit every bump.
An oxygen line was stuck up my nose. Tubes extended from my body. Things beeped.
The EMT stuck an IV in me and drew blood as we entered Roanoke City. I was headed for RMH.
How did I get in this predicament?
I woke up at 4 a.m. Friday morning having chest pains. Indigestion, I thought. Then I started sweating. A hot flash, I thought.
My jaw hurt. My TMJ, I thought.
My left shoulder hurt. That's from where I pulled it lifting groceries.
I couldn't go back to sleep so I rose and sat at the computer. I felt a little better. My husband left for work.
However, I still wasn't feeling well so I opted out of exercising. I dressed. I tried to eat breakfast but I was queasy and didn't want anything.
I left for my appointment. My chest still hurt. As I drove toward town, I felt lightheaded.
This was no good. I started sweating again. Anxiety, I thought. Stop worrying.
I had an appointment and several places to go. I made the first stop. A friend at the courthouse offered to take me to the doctor when I mentioned I was feeling unwell.
After some discussion and much hemming and hawing on my part, I called and cancelled a meeting with another friend. She offered to come and get me and drive me to the doctor when I told her why I couldn't meet her.
I declined both invitations from my friends and drove myself.
Apparently when you walk in to a medical clinic and say "I'm one of Dr. so-and-so's patients and I'm having chest pains," that is an immediate call to action.
The receptionist sent out an "I need a nurse at the front desk" call and before I knew it five nurses descended upon the waiting area. I was whisked to a triage room where they began hooking me up to monitors.
My doctor came in within two minutes and started checking me out. "Nitro and two aspirin," she said. "Has 911 been called?"
"On their way," someone said.
"No, no," I said. I tried to get up. "I just wanted you to look at me and pat me on the head and tell me I'm okay."
"That's not happening today," my doctor told me as she pushed me back into the reclining thing they'd placed me in.
She asked for my symptoms and I gave them out pretty much as I've written above.
"Why did you wait so long to have this checked?" she asked, stethoscope on my chest, when I said the pain had started at 4 a.m.
"I think it's just indigestion," I replied. By now I was somewhat alarmed.
"It may be but we're not taking a chance," she said.
The EMTs soon arrived. All of this took place in mere moments, certainly not more than 10 minutes. The doctor handed off my information and left the room. That was the last I saw of her.
They loaded me into the truck. And there I was, rolling backwards down the highway.
TO BE CONTINUED....
(Don't worry. I make a comeback in the end.)
Friday, February 20, 2009
Light a Penny Candle
Light a Penny Candle
By Maeve Binchey
582 pages
Copyright 1982; 2007
This is a reissue of a book that I am pretty sure I read when it first came out.
For some reason the title always stuck with me, anyway. But when I picked it up at the remainder bin at the book store a few weeks ago, I couldn't recall a word of the story, so I decided to reread the book.
Elizabeth White is a child when bombs start falling on England during WWII. Her mother, an agitated and anxiety-ridden sort, sends her to Ireland to stay so she will be safe.
The family that takes in Elizabeth is not kin but instead the mother, Eileen, was Elizabeth's mother's friend in school.
Elizabeth meets Aisling there, Eileen's daughter who is Elizabeth's age.
The story follows their friendship and their lives as the two grow up. Elizabeth returns home to her parents much older and wiser and the intervening years have left quite a void. Her mother leaves her father shortly after she returns home; her father is a helpless soul who is not capable of much love.
Together the two friends take on the world.
The book is an interesting glimpse at life during and after WWII in England and in Ireland. The characters were well-drawn and the heroines both grew exponentially over the course of the book.
4 stars
By Maeve Binchey
582 pages
Copyright 1982; 2007
This is a reissue of a book that I am pretty sure I read when it first came out.
For some reason the title always stuck with me, anyway. But when I picked it up at the remainder bin at the book store a few weeks ago, I couldn't recall a word of the story, so I decided to reread the book.
Elizabeth White is a child when bombs start falling on England during WWII. Her mother, an agitated and anxiety-ridden sort, sends her to Ireland to stay so she will be safe.
The family that takes in Elizabeth is not kin but instead the mother, Eileen, was Elizabeth's mother's friend in school.
Elizabeth meets Aisling there, Eileen's daughter who is Elizabeth's age.
The story follows their friendship and their lives as the two grow up. Elizabeth returns home to her parents much older and wiser and the intervening years have left quite a void. Her mother leaves her father shortly after she returns home; her father is a helpless soul who is not capable of much love.
Together the two friends take on the world.
The book is an interesting glimpse at life during and after WWII in England and in Ireland. The characters were well-drawn and the heroines both grew exponentially over the course of the book.
4 stars
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday Thirteen: Allergies
1. I am allergic to well, practically everything. I don't get just a little sick with an allergy, either. I have asthma, which is bad enough, and when my allergies flare I also develop a sore throat, bronchitis, laryngitis, sinusitis, and a lot of other -itises. It pretty much sends me to bed and can keep me there for weeks because it takes a long time to clear up.
2. Pets are a problem. I am allergic to dogs and cats and will lose my voice just being in a room where those lovely animals live, even if they're not there at the time. We had to keep our dog outside when we had her and I hated doing that to her. I love dogs in particular and sure do miss having one.
3. This allergy issue can and does interfere with my work. I interview people and write stories about them. The best place to do this is in their home, so you can see if they collect plastic roosters or have posters of Harry Potter splashed in the living room. It makes for a better story, I think.
4. I work around it by asking people I don't know to meet me in neutral places. Non-smoking restaurants and the local library are favorite meeting places. It's not ideal but it will do.
5. I have not yet found a polite way to say to a stranger: "I want to interview you, but I need to know if you have dogs or cats in your house, smoke or wear heavy perfume, because if you do any of that, let's meet someplace besides your house." Sometimes if I really want the story I am just blunt about it.
6. When I last tested for allergies, I was positive for 34 of the 35 things they tested me for. The only thing I wasn't allergic to was some kind of ornamental Asian grass.
7. Other things I am allergic to includes oak trees, pine trees, elm trees, roses, all grasses except apparently that Asian one, golden rod, wheat and pepper.
8. I once bought some local unpasteurized honey because I read that if allergy sufferers ate a little bit of it, it would help build immunity to the things they were allergic to.
9. I put a dab of the honey on my finger and put it in my mouth. My throat began to swell immediately. Thankfully we keep a lot of Benedryl and an Epipen on hand at all times.
10. I do not frequent smoking restaurants at all. I sometimes eat in restaurants that are supposedly sectioned off, but that doesn't work. The smoke goes everywhere regardless of how good the ventilation system is. So I don't eat in those unless I have to.
11. Lots of smokers stand in front of doors to non-smoking establishments. This angers me because I have to walk through it. I hold my breath and dash inside.
12. I do the same thing if I find myself having to walk through the perfume section in a department store. Heavy scents will set off my asthma, so I hold my breath and move quickly away. So I don't shop in a lot of large department stores if the only way to the women's clothes is through the perfume.
13. Fortunately most of my friends understand my problem and know that the reason I don't visit them is not because I don't like them or their dog but because I want to be able to get up and breathe and work and be normal the next day.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 86th one.
2. Pets are a problem. I am allergic to dogs and cats and will lose my voice just being in a room where those lovely animals live, even if they're not there at the time. We had to keep our dog outside when we had her and I hated doing that to her. I love dogs in particular and sure do miss having one.
3. This allergy issue can and does interfere with my work. I interview people and write stories about them. The best place to do this is in their home, so you can see if they collect plastic roosters or have posters of Harry Potter splashed in the living room. It makes for a better story, I think.
4. I work around it by asking people I don't know to meet me in neutral places. Non-smoking restaurants and the local library are favorite meeting places. It's not ideal but it will do.
5. I have not yet found a polite way to say to a stranger: "I want to interview you, but I need to know if you have dogs or cats in your house, smoke or wear heavy perfume, because if you do any of that, let's meet someplace besides your house." Sometimes if I really want the story I am just blunt about it.
6. When I last tested for allergies, I was positive for 34 of the 35 things they tested me for. The only thing I wasn't allergic to was some kind of ornamental Asian grass.
7. Other things I am allergic to includes oak trees, pine trees, elm trees, roses, all grasses except apparently that Asian one, golden rod, wheat and pepper.
8. I once bought some local unpasteurized honey because I read that if allergy sufferers ate a little bit of it, it would help build immunity to the things they were allergic to.
9. I put a dab of the honey on my finger and put it in my mouth. My throat began to swell immediately. Thankfully we keep a lot of Benedryl and an Epipen on hand at all times.
10. I do not frequent smoking restaurants at all. I sometimes eat in restaurants that are supposedly sectioned off, but that doesn't work. The smoke goes everywhere regardless of how good the ventilation system is. So I don't eat in those unless I have to.
11. Lots of smokers stand in front of doors to non-smoking establishments. This angers me because I have to walk through it. I hold my breath and dash inside.
12. I do the same thing if I find myself having to walk through the perfume section in a department store. Heavy scents will set off my asthma, so I hold my breath and move quickly away. So I don't shop in a lot of large department stores if the only way to the women's clothes is through the perfume.
13. Fortunately most of my friends understand my problem and know that the reason I don't visit them is not because I don't like them or their dog but because I want to be able to get up and breathe and work and be normal the next day.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 86th one.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Historic Church
This is the Fincastle Methodist Church in Fincastle. It has a neat old graveyard around it.
The Botetourt County Courthouse is in the background to the left.
My husband has family buried here.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Book: Valley of Silence
Valley of Silence
By Nora Roberts
Read by Dick Hill
Copyright 2006
10 hours
Audio book
Valley of Silence concludes a trilogy that I started last year. The second book was Dance of the Gods and the first was Morrigan's Cross.
The entire story is about a circle of six who have been called by the gods to stop a vampire queen in her quest to rule not one but all worlds.
The first book dealt with the two sorcerers; the second with a vampire slayer and a shape shifter.
The third book deals with the last two in the circle, a good vampire and a scholar/archer/queen.
There seemed to be much more love story and less set-up for the final battle between good and evil in this third book.
Still, this was interesting enough and certainly worth listening to in the car.
Dick Hill as always did a great job of reading. He can make even a mediocre story sound good.
3 stars
By Nora Roberts
Read by Dick Hill
Copyright 2006
10 hours
Audio book
Valley of Silence concludes a trilogy that I started last year. The second book was Dance of the Gods and the first was Morrigan's Cross.
The entire story is about a circle of six who have been called by the gods to stop a vampire queen in her quest to rule not one but all worlds.
The first book dealt with the two sorcerers; the second with a vampire slayer and a shape shifter.
The third book deals with the last two in the circle, a good vampire and a scholar/archer/queen.
There seemed to be much more love story and less set-up for the final battle between good and evil in this third book.
Still, this was interesting enough and certainly worth listening to in the car.
Dick Hill as always did a great job of reading. He can make even a mediocre story sound good.
3 stars
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sicko
Last night I watched the Michael Moore documentary Sicko.
It made me cry.
I am not going to review it really; you can read a decent review at The Nation here if you want.
I am going to tell you why it made me cry.
The state of health care in this country is abysmal and I can't understand how we as a people can sit back and watch our neighbors lose their homes and everything they own simply because they are sick.
Do we think it isn't going to happen to us? Do we think we won't age and need care? Are we really that stupid?
I cried when I saw old ladies getting tossed from cabs into the streets. Kicked out by hospitals because they can't pay their bills. They were left in bare feet and in open hospital gowns, shuffling along looking for help.
It was enough to make me want to vomit.
I cried when I saw a 911 rescue worker learn she could receive an inhaler in Cuba for FIVE cents. The exact same thing cost her $120 in the USA.
I felt disgust at insurance agencies and at Congressional "leaders" who have let companies like the insurance and pharmaceutical industries run and ruin this country. This is not a democracy, not if we're letting the least of us suffer like this.
And don't tell me this is not the norm - I am in the health care system. I have my own horror stories. I've watched people I love suffer for lack of money. I watched my mother who had health insurance get sucked in and drowned beneath the cacophony of insurance calls and doctor bills. I watched the system fail her as well as her family as she was dying.
And I did the same with my grandmother and my great aunt.
Our health care sucks.
Statistically we should be alarmed that we're the 37th healthiest country. Or that our infant mortality rate is higher than that of some third world nations. Or that people in other countries live longer than we do.
Doesn't that scare you?
Supposedly this is the greatest and wealthiest nation. So why do people have to lose their homes? Or lose their jobs when they can't work? Why do people HAVE to work while they're taking chemo, when they should be home taking care of themselves?
I have never had a problem with "universal health care" or even socialist medicine. I'm already paying thousands to the insurance company; I doubt that it would take much more off the top for my share if I were paying it in taxes instead. Last year we spent $8000 in insurance costs; it's money out of my pocket anyway.
Since I am already out of that money, I would much rather give it to a system where you and you and my grandmother and my aunt and everyone else I know and love will be assured of some kind of care that doesn't leave them wandering the streets with an IV in their arm.
We are fools.
It made me cry.
I am not going to review it really; you can read a decent review at The Nation here if you want.
I am going to tell you why it made me cry.
The state of health care in this country is abysmal and I can't understand how we as a people can sit back and watch our neighbors lose their homes and everything they own simply because they are sick.
Do we think it isn't going to happen to us? Do we think we won't age and need care? Are we really that stupid?
I cried when I saw old ladies getting tossed from cabs into the streets. Kicked out by hospitals because they can't pay their bills. They were left in bare feet and in open hospital gowns, shuffling along looking for help.
It was enough to make me want to vomit.
I cried when I saw a 911 rescue worker learn she could receive an inhaler in Cuba for FIVE cents. The exact same thing cost her $120 in the USA.
I felt disgust at insurance agencies and at Congressional "leaders" who have let companies like the insurance and pharmaceutical industries run and ruin this country. This is not a democracy, not if we're letting the least of us suffer like this.
And don't tell me this is not the norm - I am in the health care system. I have my own horror stories. I've watched people I love suffer for lack of money. I watched my mother who had health insurance get sucked in and drowned beneath the cacophony of insurance calls and doctor bills. I watched the system fail her as well as her family as she was dying.
And I did the same with my grandmother and my great aunt.
Our health care sucks.
Statistically we should be alarmed that we're the 37th healthiest country. Or that our infant mortality rate is higher than that of some third world nations. Or that people in other countries live longer than we do.
Doesn't that scare you?
Supposedly this is the greatest and wealthiest nation. So why do people have to lose their homes? Or lose their jobs when they can't work? Why do people HAVE to work while they're taking chemo, when they should be home taking care of themselves?
I have never had a problem with "universal health care" or even socialist medicine. I'm already paying thousands to the insurance company; I doubt that it would take much more off the top for my share if I were paying it in taxes instead. Last year we spent $8000 in insurance costs; it's money out of my pocket anyway.
Since I am already out of that money, I would much rather give it to a system where you and you and my grandmother and my aunt and everyone else I know and love will be assured of some kind of care that doesn't leave them wandering the streets with an IV in their arm.
We are fools.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sunday
This morning as the skies lightened to reveal a grey and overcast day, I saw shadows creeping along the ridge through the glen.
Five deer moved softly and swiftly through the opening, leaving the darkness of the pines for the hardwoods on the other side.
I stood savoring my cup of piping hot tea, watching the animals glide along without a glance toward the house.
Darkness was all around, for I had left the lights off so I could see outside.
It was too dim for photos, so I listened to the silence of the house, sounds undiminished by traffic or human voices. The sound of a dwelling in the forest, where only the sighs of the breeze dashing along the vinyl siding can be heard.
Deer are curious creatures, and one stopped to investigate something I could not see. It lingered to eat, and I imagined it felt safe and secure in the open. I have never given the deer reason to fear me, and so they don't.
The doe moved onward and I cast my eyes toward heaven. Another day. I could see streaks of blue cutting through the clouds, a hope that maybe the clouds would lift and brightness would return.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
1. This morning I used for the first time a monostick for my camera. My husband bought it for me for Christmas.
2. I thought I might need it to keep the camera from blowing out of my hands when I tried to take a picture of the wind this morning.
3.
4.
5.
6. Did I catch the wind?
7. Also this morning my computer suddenly shut itself down and then booted back up. It said it recovered from a fatal error.
8. It advised me to look at the last thing installed because that would be the likely problem.
9. That would be a MICROSOFT UPDATE to your brain, computer! That just happened last night without my say-so or design.
10. Of course the computer doesn't recognize that its brain malfunctioned; it wants to blame some outside source.
11. Doesn't that sound very human?
12. And I don't understand why when you add a picture in the "compose" mode of blogger you have to go back and edit out the HTML for the lines or you end up with no line breaks.
13. And then the stupid code comes back again if you move out of the "edit html" portion of the program. You'd think they could fix this.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 85th one.
2. I thought I might need it to keep the camera from blowing out of my hands when I tried to take a picture of the wind this morning.
3.
4.
5.
6. Did I catch the wind?
7. Also this morning my computer suddenly shut itself down and then booted back up. It said it recovered from a fatal error.
8. It advised me to look at the last thing installed because that would be the likely problem.
9. That would be a MICROSOFT UPDATE to your brain, computer! That just happened last night without my say-so or design.
10. Of course the computer doesn't recognize that its brain malfunctioned; it wants to blame some outside source.
11. Doesn't that sound very human?
12. And I don't understand why when you add a picture in the "compose" mode of blogger you have to go back and edit out the HTML for the lines or you end up with no line breaks.
13. And then the stupid code comes back again if you move out of the "edit html" portion of the program. You'd think they could fix this.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 85th one.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Not Writer's Block
I never say I have writer's block, because I never think I do.
However, sometimes, like right now, I certainly do find writing to be more work than fun.
Recently I have been working on a series of articles for an upcoming special edition. This has been going on for the past month.
I thought I would enjoy working on these stories but they have turned out not to be, well, inspired. I think the stories are flat and lifeless.
I am not happy with a single one of them. (I haven't heard from the editor to know how he feels.)
I have felt like I've been writing these stories with skill only, and very little if any creativity. No zip, no zing. No bang.
It's a good thing I can string a sentence together or I'd be in trouble.
I have sat at my desk with my notes and stared at the computer for over an hour before writing a first sentence. I have performed "notebook dumps" (where I just type up all of my notes in the shear hope that some sentence in there will spark a great idea) and found them wanting.
I have, in desperation and with deadlines looming, started articles with blase and boring leads and hoped the editor would be helpful.
I do not feel I am doing my best work at this time. However, I do feel like it is the best I can do at the moment, if that makes any sense.
I don't think it is necessarily the subject matter (except for maybe one of the stories; they are not all exciting), but my own anxieties that are the cause of the problem.
Looking back at my private journal I see that I have been feeling angst over my health more so than usual. My high blood pressure has worried me, mostly because the medications haven't controlled it yet. It's taking a while.
I don't want to have a stroke or heart attack. I don't want to burden my husband with taking care of me, or paying for my health care bills.
But I can't figure out how to fix myself.
The economy has also loomed large. Like most people, our retirement accounts are much smaller than they were a year ago.
Gas prices are creeping back up.
Food prices never dropped back down.
Our electric bill, like everyone else who is served by APCO, increased by 25 percent. For us that means we're paying a $100 more a month than we did in October.
I have friends and family who are having financial problems. I pray for them.
I have young relatives who are growing up and venturing out into this world. I am scared for them.
It feels like walking on a treadmill that jerks and throws you off. You land on your arm and break your wrist! That is what my health, the economy and the world feels like to me right now. A broken wrist.
So no, I don't have writer's block. I am still writing.
It's just some days ... I have a broken wrist.*
*I don't really have a broken wrist.
However, sometimes, like right now, I certainly do find writing to be more work than fun.
Recently I have been working on a series of articles for an upcoming special edition. This has been going on for the past month.
I thought I would enjoy working on these stories but they have turned out not to be, well, inspired. I think the stories are flat and lifeless.
I am not happy with a single one of them. (I haven't heard from the editor to know how he feels.)
I have felt like I've been writing these stories with skill only, and very little if any creativity. No zip, no zing. No bang.
It's a good thing I can string a sentence together or I'd be in trouble.
I have sat at my desk with my notes and stared at the computer for over an hour before writing a first sentence. I have performed "notebook dumps" (where I just type up all of my notes in the shear hope that some sentence in there will spark a great idea) and found them wanting.
I have, in desperation and with deadlines looming, started articles with blase and boring leads and hoped the editor would be helpful.
I do not feel I am doing my best work at this time. However, I do feel like it is the best I can do at the moment, if that makes any sense.
I don't think it is necessarily the subject matter (except for maybe one of the stories; they are not all exciting), but my own anxieties that are the cause of the problem.
Looking back at my private journal I see that I have been feeling angst over my health more so than usual. My high blood pressure has worried me, mostly because the medications haven't controlled it yet. It's taking a while.
I don't want to have a stroke or heart attack. I don't want to burden my husband with taking care of me, or paying for my health care bills.
But I can't figure out how to fix myself.
The economy has also loomed large. Like most people, our retirement accounts are much smaller than they were a year ago.
Gas prices are creeping back up.
Food prices never dropped back down.
Our electric bill, like everyone else who is served by APCO, increased by 25 percent. For us that means we're paying a $100 more a month than we did in October.
I have friends and family who are having financial problems. I pray for them.
I have young relatives who are growing up and venturing out into this world. I am scared for them.
It feels like walking on a treadmill that jerks and throws you off. You land on your arm and break your wrist! That is what my health, the economy and the world feels like to me right now. A broken wrist.
So no, I don't have writer's block. I am still writing.
It's just some days ... I have a broken wrist.*
*I don't really have a broken wrist.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
Twenty-one Questions
I pulled this meme from over at Sweetfluttersby's. Help yourself if like me you need something to put on your blog!
1. Do you like bleu cheese? It's okay.
2. Have you ever smoked? When I was a teenager I tried it but it didn't stick.
3. Do you own a gun? If I tell you I will have to kill you.
4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Lemonade.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? I choked on one in 1999 and had to have it surgically removed. What do you think I think of them after that?
6. Favorite Christmas movie? It's a Wonderful Life
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? I have a cup of hot tea every morning.
8. Can you do push ups? I doubt it.
9. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My wedding band.
10. Favorite hobby? Reading.
11. Do you wear glasses/contacts? Yes. And probably will soon need bifocals. Can you see me now?
12. Middle name? I only give that out on a need-to-know basis.
13. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink. Unsweetened tea and water. I sometimes have hot coco or juice but that isn't regularly.
14. Current worry? My blood pressure, which does not seem to be responding to new medication
15. Current hate right now? The economy which is hurting people I know.
16. Favorite place to be? Right where I am.
17. Do you own slippers? Yes
18. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't think I ever have.
19. Can you whistle? Yes. Once I was whistling in the store and a shop clerk came hurrying around the corner. She spied me and stopped. "I thought you were a man," she said, and whirled on her heel and away from me. I was greatly amused.
20. What songs do you sing in the shower? I sing along to whatever is playing on the radio.
21. Last thing that made you laugh? I must be pathetic since I have to stop and think about this and can't come up with an answer, but I laugh nearly every day over something.
1. Do you like bleu cheese? It's okay.
2. Have you ever smoked? When I was a teenager I tried it but it didn't stick.
3. Do you own a gun? If I tell you I will have to kill you.
4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Lemonade.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? I choked on one in 1999 and had to have it surgically removed. What do you think I think of them after that?
6. Favorite Christmas movie? It's a Wonderful Life
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? I have a cup of hot tea every morning.
8. Can you do push ups? I doubt it.
9. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My wedding band.
10. Favorite hobby? Reading.
11. Do you wear glasses/contacts? Yes. And probably will soon need bifocals. Can you see me now?
12. Middle name? I only give that out on a need-to-know basis.
13. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink. Unsweetened tea and water. I sometimes have hot coco or juice but that isn't regularly.
14. Current worry? My blood pressure, which does not seem to be responding to new medication
15. Current hate right now? The economy which is hurting people I know.
16. Favorite place to be? Right where I am.
17. Do you own slippers? Yes
18. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't think I ever have.
19. Can you whistle? Yes. Once I was whistling in the store and a shop clerk came hurrying around the corner. She spied me and stopped. "I thought you were a man," she said, and whirled on her heel and away from me. I was greatly amused.
20. What songs do you sing in the shower? I sing along to whatever is playing on the radio.
21. Last thing that made you laugh? I must be pathetic since I have to stop and think about this and can't come up with an answer, but I laugh nearly every day over something.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Remembering 1970s music
Yesterday as I cleaned house I listened to the 1970s station on satellite.
At noon, The American Top 40 with Casey Kasem. The show counted down the Top 40 records in the United States.
During the first 20 minutes of this rerun from sometime in the 1970s, Kasem gave a shout-out to "great radio stations like WFIR in Roanoke, VA".
Ah, yes. WFIR was the top music station in those days. It was not talk radio like it is now. It was an AM station back then too.
It rocked.
Here's a history of the station; it's the second oldest in the area.
On Sundays I sat in my room and listened to the American Top 40 on WFIR. Often I had a tape recorder running and I would tape my favorite songs to listen to at night.
The radio reception where we lived was pitiful when the sun went down, so this was a necessity if I wanted to hear these new tunes before I could get the vinyl. I suppose nowadays I'd have the copyright police after me. Definitely a different time.
Anyway, listening to those songs eventually led to buying the vinyl.
In the late 1970s the station changed its format. FM stations became the thing; K92 and Q99 became the stations to listen to. I still listen to Q99; I guess I have been listening to that station now for almost 30 years.
And of course I bought record albums.
In those long ago olden days, vinyl was king. You wanted big speakers and loud bass. If the record skipped on the player, you fixed it by placing a penny atop the needle so the arm would stay down.
There were many a night I spent in front of my record player trying to learn a song on the guitar, jumping the song back to whatever lick of rhythm I was trying to conquer.
Nowadays I don't hear a current American Top 40; I couldn't tell you what the "number one song in America" is today.
I listened to a mix of everything but mostly bought pop music albums. And disco.
My husband is an straight rock and roll kind of guy; when we married we merged our album collection. His was full of The Rolling Stones and my was full of one-hit wonders and southern rock.
Now we have all of these record albums and nothing to play them on, so I am always glad to listen to the songs of my youth on the satellite.
Nothing makes me clean like a good strong beat and a little rock-n-roll.
At noon, The American Top 40 with Casey Kasem. The show counted down the Top 40 records in the United States.
During the first 20 minutes of this rerun from sometime in the 1970s, Kasem gave a shout-out to "great radio stations like WFIR in Roanoke, VA".
Ah, yes. WFIR was the top music station in those days. It was not talk radio like it is now. It was an AM station back then too.
It rocked.
Here's a history of the station; it's the second oldest in the area.
On Sundays I sat in my room and listened to the American Top 40 on WFIR. Often I had a tape recorder running and I would tape my favorite songs to listen to at night.
The radio reception where we lived was pitiful when the sun went down, so this was a necessity if I wanted to hear these new tunes before I could get the vinyl. I suppose nowadays I'd have the copyright police after me. Definitely a different time.
Anyway, listening to those songs eventually led to buying the vinyl.
In the late 1970s the station changed its format. FM stations became the thing; K92 and Q99 became the stations to listen to. I still listen to Q99; I guess I have been listening to that station now for almost 30 years.
And of course I bought record albums.
In those long ago olden days, vinyl was king. You wanted big speakers and loud bass. If the record skipped on the player, you fixed it by placing a penny atop the needle so the arm would stay down.
There were many a night I spent in front of my record player trying to learn a song on the guitar, jumping the song back to whatever lick of rhythm I was trying to conquer.
Nowadays I don't hear a current American Top 40; I couldn't tell you what the "number one song in America" is today.
I listened to a mix of everything but mostly bought pop music albums. And disco.
My husband is an straight rock and roll kind of guy; when we married we merged our album collection. His was full of The Rolling Stones and my was full of one-hit wonders and southern rock.
Now we have all of these record albums and nothing to play them on, so I am always glad to listen to the songs of my youth on the satellite.
Nothing makes me clean like a good strong beat and a little rock-n-roll.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
1. The ground outside my window is speckled. It's a southern hill and still snow-covered, with clumps of grass rising through it.
2. The wind has a frigid feeling about it today.
3. The sunshine is an illusion, because it brings no warmth this afternoon.
4. An animal streaked across my front yard at daybreak, so fast and quick that I could not tell what it was, only that something ran before my eyes.
5. Off in the distance I see a silo glimmering and reflecting light. It almost looks like a lighthouse set amongst the mountains.
6. I have not been to the sea in two years.
7. Some days, like today, my work does not flow well and the strain of writing becomes like the weight of a hundred horses trampling on me, all of them stepping on my heart.
8. My heart sometimes is so breezy that I think it might float from my chest and up into the atmosphere, moving like a hot air balloon on a beautiful crisp fall morning.
9. It has been 30 years since I took a trip out of the United States. Sometimes I think I would like to take another. I would like to see Ireland, England and Scotland, for three.
10. My ancestors hail from Scotland, Ireland and Germany. They were planters, gunsmiths, farmers and millers. At least one fought in the American Revolution; he is buried about four miles down the road in the cemetery at the Fincastle Presbyterian Church.
11. I am at least the seventh generation of my family to live in my county. That's 200 years of my bloodline looking at the same mountains I see, feeling the same winds, smelling the same smells. Two hundred years of loving the same land.
12. I am Appalachian through and through; it is deep in my bones.
13. This is my home.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 84th one.
2. The wind has a frigid feeling about it today.
3. The sunshine is an illusion, because it brings no warmth this afternoon.
4. An animal streaked across my front yard at daybreak, so fast and quick that I could not tell what it was, only that something ran before my eyes.
5. Off in the distance I see a silo glimmering and reflecting light. It almost looks like a lighthouse set amongst the mountains.
6. I have not been to the sea in two years.
7. Some days, like today, my work does not flow well and the strain of writing becomes like the weight of a hundred horses trampling on me, all of them stepping on my heart.
8. My heart sometimes is so breezy that I think it might float from my chest and up into the atmosphere, moving like a hot air balloon on a beautiful crisp fall morning.
9. It has been 30 years since I took a trip out of the United States. Sometimes I think I would like to take another. I would like to see Ireland, England and Scotland, for three.
10. My ancestors hail from Scotland, Ireland and Germany. They were planters, gunsmiths, farmers and millers. At least one fought in the American Revolution; he is buried about four miles down the road in the cemetery at the Fincastle Presbyterian Church.
11. I am at least the seventh generation of my family to live in my county. That's 200 years of my bloodline looking at the same mountains I see, feeling the same winds, smelling the same smells. Two hundred years of loving the same land.
12. I am Appalachian through and through; it is deep in my bones.
13. This is my home.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 84th one.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
If wishes were dimes
There are 305 million people in the United States.
Let's say there are about 150 million households (I think it is a smaller number than that - more like 130 million - but I didn't feel like sifting through the Census Bureau website.).
It seems to me that if the government is giving away money, it would be easier, faster and cleaner just to send it to the households.
Let's skip the banks and all of this other stuff and let the people manage their own money.
If the government handed out $100,000 to 150 million households, that would $15 with 12 zeros after it. I think (hope?) that is $15 trillion.
Okay, that's a lot. And it's out of the $800 billion range, so let's make it $10,000. That's $15 with 11 zeros after it, and I think that is $150 billion dollars. That would leave $650 billion out of the $800 billion stimulus fiasco which I think should go toward building infrastructure and doing only things that are job related. It should not go to banks and financial institutions, even though my bank is one of the banks apparently gaining windfalls from tax dollars these days.
A lot of people are going to save that $10,000, you know. That's money in the bank. Some will spend it, but others will pay off credit cards, maybe catch up on those delinquent mortgages. The banks would get their share that way. Good banks would benefit the most, if the market theories are correct.
If necessary, somebody correct my math if it is in error, please, because I majored in English and not math.
My point is, whatever the numbers, couldn't the populace do a lot of economic stimulating itself if we had the money? If you're going to throw away dollars, why not give it to the people who actually need it?
Couldn't every household use $10,000?
I don't have a problem with the government stepping in to help. Government should do that. I just wish it would step in and help the people who really could use the help, and not the high rollers and the folks who created the problem in the first place.
Let's say there are about 150 million households (I think it is a smaller number than that - more like 130 million - but I didn't feel like sifting through the Census Bureau website.).
It seems to me that if the government is giving away money, it would be easier, faster and cleaner just to send it to the households.
Let's skip the banks and all of this other stuff and let the people manage their own money.
If the government handed out $100,000 to 150 million households, that would $15 with 12 zeros after it. I think (hope?) that is $15 trillion.
Okay, that's a lot. And it's out of the $800 billion range, so let's make it $10,000. That's $15 with 11 zeros after it, and I think that is $150 billion dollars. That would leave $650 billion out of the $800 billion stimulus fiasco which I think should go toward building infrastructure and doing only things that are job related. It should not go to banks and financial institutions, even though my bank is one of the banks apparently gaining windfalls from tax dollars these days.
A lot of people are going to save that $10,000, you know. That's money in the bank. Some will spend it, but others will pay off credit cards, maybe catch up on those delinquent mortgages. The banks would get their share that way. Good banks would benefit the most, if the market theories are correct.
If necessary, somebody correct my math if it is in error, please, because I majored in English and not math.
My point is, whatever the numbers, couldn't the populace do a lot of economic stimulating itself if we had the money? If you're going to throw away dollars, why not give it to the people who actually need it?
Couldn't every household use $10,000?
I don't have a problem with the government stepping in to help. Government should do that. I just wish it would step in and help the people who really could use the help, and not the high rollers and the folks who created the problem in the first place.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
A little snow
Monday night we had a little snow.
The first thing I noticed when I looked outside at 6 a.m. this morning was footy prints. I'd had a visitor on my front porch.
I think those paw prints belong to a rabbit.
Most of the snow vanished today; however, there is a chance of a little more tonight. I am not expecting much.
We have been in a drought here for quite a while, and the moisture was welcome. Snow also adds nitrogen to the soil. We were glad to see it.
Sunday it was almost 65 degrees here. Yesterday it was warm too.
And the temperature dropped. And the snow fell.
Weird weather!
The first thing I noticed when I looked outside at 6 a.m. this morning was footy prints. I'd had a visitor on my front porch.
I think those paw prints belong to a rabbit.
Most of the snow vanished today; however, there is a chance of a little more tonight. I am not expecting much.
We have been in a drought here for quite a while, and the moisture was welcome. Snow also adds nitrogen to the soil. We were glad to see it.
Sunday it was almost 65 degrees here. Yesterday it was warm too.
And the temperature dropped. And the snow fell.
Weird weather!
Monday, February 02, 2009
GroundHog Day
Yesterday was such an incredibly warm day that it was hard to believe that not long ago the land was coated in ice.
I stepped outside in my shirt sleeves and moved cautiously around the yard. My roses looked like they were surviving in spite of the frigid temperatures we experienced in January. I could smell change in the air even though we're not out of winter yet.
Today the ol' groundhog pops out and sees his shadow (or not). This day always makes me sad because it reminds me of the one time I actually shot and killed an animal (I also once shot a snake but I didn't feel too badly about that.).
It was a warm spring day and the dog, who was on a chain because she tended to wander at this point in her life, started barking.
Ginger was a small black dog, part terrier, part Eskimo Spitz, mostly mutt. She was facing down a groundhog that was as big as she was.
My dog was at a disadvantage because of the chain. She kept hopping and moving around and the groundhog kept chasing her, moving forward, then sometimes backward.
I couldn't tell if the groundhog had bitten the dog, but it seemed imminent if it hadn't already happened.
This continued long enough for me to call my husband (who was of course at work) and ask him how to chase the groundhog off.
The fact that the groundhog was after the dog meant the animal likely was sick, my husband said. He feared it might attack me.
I know how to shoot a rifle and I have my own .22 caliber gun. I loaded it and opened the back door. I raised the gun and in one shot I felled the groundhog. It dropped without a twitch.
The dog was very excited and had a scratch across her nose that went near her eye but otherwise seemed fine. I called the vet and he checked her shots and advised that my Ginger would be okay because her shots were all up to date. The wound did not seem to need stitches.
However, I felt very bad about killing the groundhog, even though it seemed I had no other choice if I wanted to save my dog. Even now, 20 years later, I still wish I had found some other way to go about it.
And every groundhog day, I am reminded.
P.S. Ginger came to us in 1984 and she died in 2001. I haven't had the heart to get another dog.
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