Musings

John was expecting an important letter. He asked me to drive him to the post office one day last week. His Irish impatience was in overload. He had been waiting for three days to get his hands on that particular piece of mail. So as an act of self preservation I grabbed my cars keys, and headed for the car. It was a lovely day and there wasn't much traffic so it was an enjoyable drive.

I always pull up to the curb and let John off directly in front of the door when I take him to the post office, otherwise the walk to our box would be a bit too much for him to handle without my wheelchair to hang on. As soon as I see that he is in the front door I drive to a slot and park.

On this particular day he had just gotten out of the car and I was waiting to see that his legs were in proper working order when a woman came up to the driver's side window and said, "You're dumb. This is a dumb place to park your car."

Normally, I ignore rude, ignorant people. It's just not worth the effort to come down to their level, but this woman came right up into my face. I yelled. I very seldom yell ... it shocked even me. But I did it. I have to confess. I yelled. "No, dumb is when you open your mouth before checking the facts. Go to the front of my car and look at my license plate. Then go over there and open the door for that disabled man that just got out of this car. Dumb? You want dumb, go look in the mirror."

I saw fear on her face as I was yelling, but she did walk over and open the door for John. Maybe she learned a lesson, but I seriously doubt it. People that are quick to draw conclusions just don't seem to 'get' it. Also our society has become increasingly rude and impatient so I have no great hopes that she will change.

It's me that I wonder about. I have never yelled like that before. Either I have become overly sensitive for John or I have gotten to the age where my tolerance for inconsiderate people is at it's lowest. Either way, I shocked the hell out of myself ... and John. He'd never heard me yell before either!

"I have a PhD, and it's too complicated to suit me," said William Q. Beard, a retired chemist.

Mr. Beard was referring, or course, to the new Medicare Drug Discount Card. I read that quote in three different papers yesterday and every time I saw it my self esteem elevated a bit. After all, if Mr. Beard, with a PhD, can't understand it then I'm traveling in good company.

I have read, read, and re-read what are supposed to be self explanatory directions that I received in a booklet that the government sent me, and I have come to the same conclusion after each re-read. I'm on my own in this morass of confusing, and complicated non-information.

When a doctor deems that you can no longer pursue gainful employment you eventually 'have' to apply for Social Security and Medicare. My legs don't work and my back only works part time, but my brain isn't impaired. At least I didn't think so until recently. Recently meaning ... since I've started receiving and reading the available information on how to apply for 'The Card'.

The card would be really nice to have if I only understood how to get it. A big hunk of my fixed income goes to pay for private insurance that doesn't include a prescription plan. I have to pay full price for the drugs that my doctor says are a monthly must.

I have decided that the plan was intentionally written to be confusing and complicated so that it would exhaust most Medicare users. And those that are too exhausted will just say to hell with it and not apply ... ergo, fewer cards issued, fewer discounts have to be given.

John sits in his chair and listens to me moaning as I try to make sense of the whole thing. He gets all of his medication free from the VA Hospital. One of his prescriptions costs $1,200 a month. He wouldn't be able to afford the drugs that he needs to maintain his health if he didn't have that availability and I'm pleased for him. Because it's not a 'have to do' for him I thought he might want to volunteer some of his vast brain power to help me find my way out of this quagmire, so I handed him all of the information that I have amassed. I waited eagerly for some enlightenment, but instead his eyes glassed over and he started mumbling something about meatloaf causing brain damage.

Aw well John gets that way, occassionly, when there aren't any baseball games to watch on TV.

Guess I'll go to the post office and look for that lady that told me I was dumb. Maybe she has some other profound ideas.

My son came home with a huge jar of pickled eggs this past weekend. He and John sat and watched the football game and ate pickled eggs and knockwurst sandwiches. My mother loved pickled anything. She always had a jar of pickled something or other in the refrigerator. Seeing that jar of pickling juice brought a stab of 'missing momma' so I did sneak one or two of the peppers that were intermingled with the eggs. The taste brought a smile to my memory. She would have been sitting there sharing those eggs with those two men and loving every minute of it.

But the kids and I were wiser than that. We knew what the end result was going to be. We searched the house for all the air fresheners. We armed ourselves and waited. Ane we were right The flatulence was fast and furious that night. There weren't enough fresheners to make the air breathable. We finally banned the two of them to the another room and shut the door. My son came out once to get a glass of milk and I swear his eyes were red from the metabolic gases that he had been forced to breathe.

I'll finish this bit of musing madness with this pearl of the day.

I was sitting in my car waiting for my granddaughter to finish whatever it is she does in the store when a black SUV pulled into the slot beside me. I didn't pay any attention when the man got out of his car, went around to the other side, and opened that door. I did flip my head around though when I heard him say, "Do you want to take your penis in the store with you?"

"No the dog has to stay in the car, but you can take your penis with you."

My first thought was that I was looking at an extremely twisted human being. Why would anyone give a little boy permission to take his penis, which is connected to his body, into the store with him. I was shocked, and curious, so I cautiously watched the man maneuver the child out of the car.

I couldn't actually see the child until they reached the sidewalk. When they did, I saw that the child was a little, dark haired girl. And when the man reached out to her he said, "Here's your PEANUTS."

Thank goodness I wasn't as quick to interfere with him as that woman at the post office was with me. OMG can you imagine the 'yelling' that would have gone if I had.

"Say Goodnight Gracie"