GARNETS AND GRIT

Last Saturday my wife and I, as part of our fortieth anniversary gift, got to visit the Barton Garnet Mines in North River, NY. We did not come away materially richer but we did learn a few things and we had a good time.

To get to this rather unusual tourist attraction you make a turn off RT 28 between North River and North Creek. If that’s not specific enough then I have to apologize for the lack of well know landmarks. It is somewhere near the headwaters of the Hudson River tucked behind Gore Mountain and its attendant ski area. So you make this turn off 28 and start driving uphill. You drive uphill a lot. There are even little signs; “Keep on Going”, “You’re getting there”, “Only 1 ½ miles to go” and “You’re almost there”. Finally you reach a rather ramshackle building with a small parking lot. The building houses a store and some museum artifacts about the mines. It is also the place to pay for your ticket and start the tour.

A young lady soon announced that the next tour was leaving and everyone piled into their cars and followed the tour guide in her jeep down to the mine. After a short ride down hill we entered a huge pit cut into the mountain. The cars all park in the center of this pit and everyone gets out and gawks. Sheer rock cliffs surrounded us on three sides. The cliffs are several hundred feet high. Down in the bottom of the pit are two large ponds with a spit of rocky ground between them. The tour guide gathered her little flock near a huge highly polished slab of garnet impregnated rock and delivered her little lecture. She told of the accidental discovery of the vein of garnet about 150 years ago. She talked about the geology of the site. She talked about the history of the mine and how it progressed from a pick and shovel operation to one involving explosives and mechanical processes. Then she invited everyone to grab a little pail, shovel and strainer, or a five gallon bucket and do a little mining for the precious stones. I noticed that some folks had skipped the lecture and proceeded right on to the digging and sifting. The guide explained that people come back again and again to try to find the larger gem quality rocks.

So my wife and I went out along the edge of one of the ponds and scratched around in the dirt. Finding garnets is easy. There are millions of “bb” size pieces lying everywhere. There are also large boulders with chunks of the crystals embedded within. But getting the right rocks to produce a ring or necklace is another story indeed. People were gamely trying all around us. Some used small strainers that they filled with soil and rock, and then shook them in the water displacing the muddy bad stuff leaving the more likely good stones behind. Other folks took five gallon buckets, filled them with water and then poured them out, eroding away a sloping piece of ground. We tried both ways but obviously didn’t have the patience to keep at the job. We found a few small pieces and saved them. But when we went to have them weighed to pay the dollar a pound fee for hauling stuff out, the girl looked down and said that fractions weren’t her strong point and told us to just take our treasure for free.

Mostly I was interested in the way the mountain had been cut into. The power that people can harness to, literally, move a mountain is amazing. What is more amazing is that the first fifty or sixty feet of the pit were taken by hand tools alone. This is hard, ancient rock that was moved by picks and shovel. I have a hard time moving a few pieces of sod around the yard and can’t imagine the effort that the miners had to expend in lopping off that mountain top.

Garnet is not a particularly valuable gem as these things are measured. But it is useful, primarily as an abrasive. Tiny pieces of garnet are embedded into grinding wheels and sandpaper which can be used to smooth and finely polish just about any other material. It’s hard stuff. Since I wasn’t willing to load up a bucket of the stuff and make sandpaper for myself I left a little shorthanded. And since there weren’t any good quality jewelry type stones laying on the surface of the ground I lost out in that area as well. But I learned something, breathed some good mountain air and met some interesting people.
So I guess you could say I had a fine day.

And I hope you have one too.

DILLON HILL B&B: A Review

I don’t like bed and breakfast places. That’s a pretty foolish thing to say because I’ve had only good experiences when we’ve used them. But there’s something about the idea of inviting myself in to a complete stranger’s home that bothers me. It’s okay with relatives but not with strangers. That being said this past weekend may have completely cured me of my little phobia. We stayed in the Dillon Inn Cabins and Bed and Breakfast in Wevertown, NY and couldn’t have had a better time.

For our fortieth anniversary our daughters gave us a gift that was a little different. Not everyone gets a tour of a mine followed by a night in a farm house as a gift. Leave it to our kids to come up with that. The best part is we really enjoy that kind of idea. I’ll write about the mine tomorrow. Today let me tell you all about the farm house.

The Dillon Inn is located on a dirt road on the edge of the hamlet of Wevertown, NY in the Adirondack Mountains. Close by is Gore Mountain, a major ski area, and the headwaters of the Hudson River. The driveway to the Inn is cut out of a hillside and lined on one side with an impressive wall made of local boulders. A large white farm house surrounded by beautiful lawns and gardens comes in to view at the top of the hill. Along the edges of the clearing are two cabins, also white, and also attractive. The overall impression of the building and grounds is one of beauty, order and comfort. A welcoming committee of three rather happy Bassett Hounds came bounding up to show us the way in.

A bed and breakfast is only as welcoming and as friendly as the hosts. The accommodations could be as luxurious as a five star hotel but if the owners in residence are cold and imperious then pleasant memories will not be made. At the Dillon Inn the owners, Mike and Nina Dougherty, are friendly, kind and genuine folks who welcome their guests warmly and sincerely. They will provide as much privacy as a guest wants or some interesting and enjoyable conversation. Always accommodating and never intrusive is the balance that they achieve in an effortless way. Mike was more than happy to share the history of the home and the work they have accomplished to make it the showplace it is today. Nina talked about the gardens that embellish the grounds and about the everyday operation of the Inn.

The living room with a beautiful stone fireplace was comfortable and inviting. The entertainment center was well equipped with TV and a substantial library. A screened in porch provided a bug free outdoor sitting space. The dining room is a gorgeous and warm space with windows overlooking the back yard. Each guest room is unique in decoration, all tastefully done and comfortably furnished. We stayed in the Sawmill Room which is paneled in natural woods and accented with wood furnishings surrounding a lovely four poster queen size bed. The rooms all have plenty of natural light plus lamps and recessed ceiling lighting that allow the guests to set whatever level of light they like. All the rooms are quiet and well insulated. Every room has a private bath equipped with an excellent modern shower. Linens and accessories are of the finest quality. Mike and Nina have made an old farm house into a really fine place to spend a night or a week.

The breakfast prepared by Nina was superb. On the morning of our stay she served a perfectly cooked frittata with broccoli, mushrooms and cheese. This was accompanied by bacon, home fries and an excellent whole grain toast. Coffee, which each guest can make to his or her liking, and juice, rounded out the menu. In the evening a fresh and delicious home made apple tart was set out for snacking. Mike and Nina also had several recommendations for other meals at local restaurants. We went with their suggestion of the Black Mountain Lodge and were completely satisfied.

If you’re a skier the Dillon Inn has packages available featuring the great facilities of Gore Mountain. If you’re a “leaf peeper” the Inn is situated in a beautiful area for your particular interest. Whitewater rafting is a very short ride away from the Inn and hiking trails are just a few steps from the front door. Many other attractions are nearby including the mine tour.

So if you need a little quiet time or if you want to give a sure to be appreciated special gift contact the Dillon Hill folks. Their website is www.dillonhill.com and it has photos and lots of other information. The photos, as beautiful as they are, don’t really do the place justice. Take it from a guy who didn’t really care for bed and breakfast places, this is an ideal place to stay. If you like reasonably priced comfortable, quiet, luxurious and hospitable accommodations then you can’t go wrong here.

Have a fine day.

GRANDFATHER TALES

This past weekend I was talking with some of my cousins and we were remembering some of the good times we had with our grandfather, my mother’s dad. He was a good man and a memorable character who died a long time ago at a ripe old age. He enjoyed doing things with his grandchildren and more than once led them into situations that could have been perilous. But we survived and had a good time doing it.

Sometimes Grandpa would take a bunch of us on little excursions to pick berries as they came into season. He was a berry picking machine. We’d pile into his car, which he drove with wild abandon totally ignoring all the laws and other drivers. He was prone to sudden starts and stops and was one of the main reasons that seat belts are worn in the US today. He would drive way out in the wilds of the Northern Adirondacks to his secret berry picking places and we’d get to work. If you’ve ever picked wild blackberries, blueberries or raspberries then you know the discomfort associated with the task. The bushes will scratch exposed skin and create a torrent of flowing blood. The blood attracts flies and mosquitoes large enough to carry off a small kid. Even in the far reaches of the Adirondacks temperatures can rise from mild to extremely hot in a matter of minutes. Or they can drop thirty degrees and be accompanied by freezing rain just as quickly. Grandpa ignored all those natural wonders and couldn’t understand why we were such whiny little sissies. He would urge us on as he filled pail after pail with nature’s bounty. Some of us would slip away to a nearby stream or pine forest to escape the incessant toil. When we would get back to the berry bushes they’d be picked over by Grandpa and the older kids. Back at the car he’d look at our meager few ounces of berries and shake his head as he lit a cigarette. But he didn’t make too big a deal about our poor performance.


One time when some of us were teenagers Grandpa decided to take four or five of the boys to visit my paternal Grandparents who lived in a little mining town down in the mountains. All those grandparents were on good terms, though somewhat formal in their conversations. It was Mr. and Mrs. Bourey and Mr. Messier. First names were not used. So four teenage boys were loaded into the car and we were on our way. Somehow, along the way, one of my cousins talked Grandpa into letting him drive. My cousin had his permit and he convinced the old fellow that he really needed the practice. This cousin was considered responsible although those of us who were close in age knew better. So Grandpa pulled over and my cousin took off. The weather wasn’t bad but there had been a light rain and the road wasn’t dry yet. My cousin’s experience on wet mountain roads was non-existent. But he wanted to show his skills to us and he was hitting the gas pedal pretty heavily. Grandpa was hollering away trying to get my cousin to slow down. As the car went over a ridge and down into a very steep curve it began to hydro-plane. The road had just enough water on it to provide a nice slick surface. My cousin tapped the brakes. Nothing happened. We were through the curve but the momentum of the back end of the car caused it to start fishtailing. The fishtail turned into a spin. We were spinning, fairly slowly, down the center of the road as the mountain gave way to a flatter area. Fortunately no cars were headed towards us and no cars were behind. We didn’t catch the edge of the road which could have flipped us over or tossed us off the mountain. Grandpa was murmuring prayers we had never heard before. As the car settled to a stop facing up hill, the way we had just come from, my cousin very calmly did a nice three point turn and headed on to the village which was just ahead. Grandpa gave up on his hollering and his praying and we went on to have a nice visit with the other old folks. There was never another word spoken about the incident, except among us teenage boys who thought it was one of the coolest things that happened that summer.

Grandpa had been a widower for a long time when he got himself a lady friend. Some of the relatives weren’t too happy with that turn of events, thinking that he was too old and it was not too dignified a thing for senior citizens to be dating. (Although they didn’t call it dating. It was “keeping company”.) But the teenage kids in the family didn’t disapprove. In fact we would cover for him when he would sneak out to play cards with his girlfriend. We would say that he was taking us to a movie at the drive-in or to a ball game up at the other side of town. For our complicity we would get rides, cigarettes and the occasional small loan. Although when it came to the smokes we gave Grandpa more than he got from us. He was always supposed to be quitting smoking but he couldn’t seem to give it up completely. Those were the days before the government pronouncements of the health risks of smoking. For a time Grandpa even rolled his own on a little machine he bought. We thought that was very cool because we could sneakily make up a bunch of cigarettes and he wouldn’t even notice that the level of tobacco in his can had gone down.

Playing cards was a big part of Grandpa’s recreational regimen. He was always trying to get a few kids to join him in a game of Canasta or Five Hundred. The problem with those games was that he hated losing. If he started to fall behind in the score he would try and distract us so that we would make a bad move. Sometimes I think he might have even cheated a little. But it was a big kick for us to hear him start his inventive version of cussing when he was losing. He could say a lot of words that came close to the real curse words without actually committing the “sin”. We all laughed at him but it was affectionate and loving laughter. And I think he did a little performing just for our sakes.

Those are a few memories of Grandpa M, some of the best stored up in the old brain. Some days they help me to get perspective on life. I hope they help you…

Have a fine day.

COUSINS

This past weekend I spent some time with some of my cousins. I have a lot of cousins; first, second and third, once removed, twice removed and on and on. There are also spouses of cousins (I call them cousin-in-laws) who are integral parts of the family. On my paternal side of the family I have seventeen first cousins still with us and on the maternal side there are twenty-three. So, if my math is correct, that’s forty living first cousins. Another three have passed on to the big family reunion in the sky.

I like my cousins. They don’t all fit into easily categorized groups. Some people might say we have the good, the bad and the ugly. But I wouldn’t say that. Some of them I haven’t seen for years. But I know that when I do see them we’ll pick up on the latest news in a matter of minutes and continue conversations that were started long ago. This past weekend I saw a cousin that I hadn’t seen in thirty years or so. I’ve followed his progress through other relatives so I knew a little about his life and travels. But it was great seeing him and sorting out the details, separating the facts from the rumors. As a family, we have a way of exaggerating or embellishing personal accounts of absent relatives. Some might say we all like a good story, especially a story that has a punch line and some kind of insult tucked inside. We tend to laugh a great deal.

My paternal side cousins, with a few notable exceptions, are quieter and more serious than my maternal side. The paternal cousins enjoy more one on one conversation tempered with a certain reserve. Their humor is understated and occasionally sarcastic. They’re a lot of fun to be with but they’re a much more reserved group than the maternal crowd. The cousins on my Mom’s side are a boisterous bunch. Mealtime conversation will go in many, many directions at the same time with frequent interruptions, jokes and (usually) friendly arguments. And there is a little bit of loudness involved. But all of my cousins are good folks. They’re more than just a bunch of relatives that I “need” to be nice to. Every one of them I consider to be a friend as well as a relative.

In an effort to tell a little bit about one of my cousins I’m probably going to embarrass her. I’m not even going to mention her name but family members will know who I’m talking about. She is on the maternal side of the family, which is appropriate because she’s a maternal kind of lady. If there is one cousin I can think of who embodies the spirit of a strong and happy family it is this super person. Along with her husband, a fine fellow and excellent bread maker, she has set the standard of hospitality and kindness that all of us strive to achieve. She is optimistic, uncannily cheerful, always helpful and generous and extremely good looking. Her house is always as open as her heart. And her heart is always, always open. Does she have a slight temper? Well, maybe. But even on the rare occasions when a little outburst shows up she will be quick to try and mend the situation and forgive and forget. If I don’t stop here other family members will swear I’m making this stuff up just to get on her good side. But I’m always on her good side. So those of you who know who I’m talking about, give her a pat on the back once in a while. She deserves more than that but she’ll never look for it.

Other cousins from both sides of my family also stand out in my mind. Some I think of as mentors. Some I think of as confidantes. And others I can call on when I need a good laugh. There might even be one or two who would lend me a power tool. With so many excellent people in one large family I judge myself to be a very fortunate guy.

Usually I have a point for these little articles. Today my point is less obvious. Not everyone has a huge family with a high degree of harmony. Some folks have small clans that are contentious and unable to get along. Harmony doesn’t happen by accident. It requires someone to take the lead and set an example. Then it takes a few more family members to follow that lead. It all grows from there. Our family has been fortunate to have quite a few good leaders, one of whom I mentioned earlier. And I’ve always been happy to follow a good leader.

So have a fine day.

TODAY'S NEWS: An Interpretation

Talking to the Kids

I don’t mind if the president gets on the TV and talks to the kids about trying to do a good job and staying in school. Heck, Mr. Bush was reading a story to some elementary school children when the 9/11 attacks occurred. Some of my fellow “Right-Wing Wackos” were all in a tizzy about today’s speech. They were worried that the president was going to try and warp all those little minds with a lot of socialist propaganda. My opinion is that the attention spans of about 85% of the kids listening didn’t allow them to pay attention for more than the first three or four sentences of the speech. The other 15% are the ones who will do well and stay in school anyway, and they would be able to discern whatever baloney the president would throw their way. I read the text of the speech. It was pretty much a little pep talk and most of our student bodies have already forgotten what was said. Next May or June attend the graduation ceremonies at a high school near you. Ask the graduates as they file by if they stayed in school because of the speech President Obama gave on September 8, 2009. If one in ten thousand replies with a yes then I’ll give the necessary apologies and kudos to the big guy. Until then, I’ll hold my applause.

Talking to the AFL-CIO

On Sunday, or was it Monday, Mr. Obama gave a speech at the big union picnic event of the AFL-CIO. He congratulated all those union folks, mostly union heads and officials, for all the fine work they have done throughout the years. He got them pumped up pretty good. They were a receptive crowd, some of the president’s most ardent supporters. Of course the unions have been doing all they can for many years to destroy American commerce. I know union members and former union members who actually hate the whole idea of being forced to join a union so that they can hold a job. I also know former union members who watched as their unions made it so expensive for the employers to do business in this country that the plants closed and their jobs just disappeared. About eighty or ninety years ago unions were working to improve safety and other conditions in the workplace. They helped to negotiate better wages and benefits for the working people. But like any bureaucracy, and believe me union management is exactly that, it becomes impressed with its own agenda. And the big unions like the Autoworkers, Steelworkers and Teamsters became greedy, unreasoning entities with no real regard for the people they supposedly represented. Not unlike the Congress of the United States. So I’m glad Mr. Obama had a nice time at the picnic. But I’d be willing to bet that if an election was to be held in November, and a viable opponent was available, he wouldn’t win. Too bad we can’t test my theory.

Popular Culture News Items

That couple with eighteen kids is expecting again. How about that? That other couple with a bunch of kids is split up, or maybe they’re not. The world is enthralled.

That poor athlete who had some confusion about gender is having a make-over. She runs track. The only time anyone pays attention to track is when the Olympics roll around or when there’s a drug or gender scandal. Can we say “who gives a hoot?”

There are a whole bunch of doomsday movies coming out this fall. Some of them might be entertaining. But I’d be willing to bet that most of them are pretentious and full of scenarios based on bad science and un-supported speculations. I’d also bet that they’ll make a ton of money.

Ramadan is ending. Lots of Muslims are celebrating and ending their fasts. I don’t recall too much media attention about Christians who strictly observe the Lenten season ending their fasts this past Easter. I must have missed it. The holy season of Ramadan didn’t stop the fanatics in some places from blowing up men, women and children. Hypocrisy is the same no matter who the practitioners are.

And finally, this important bit of news; Queen Victoria’s underwear, apparently a size 3x, have been added to a collection of royal apparel. Royalty, and all those who are enamored of it, are truly strange people. The idea that being born into a particular family adds some special quality to a person is really absurd. Unless, of course, your name is Kennedy. Then it’s okay.

Have a fine day.

GIBSON BROTHERS CONCERT: #2

Last night my dear wife and I went to a Gibson Brothers concert over in Rock Hall, Maryland. We have seen this band several times and they are (obviously) one of our favorites of all time. In the past I have written reviews of their performances and albums but I have always been more of the gushing fan. This time I want to write a serious review as if I were a real music critic. (As if!) So be prepared for some serious pedantry and esoteric information all wrapped up in a critical review.

The Gibson Brothers and their band are known primarily in the world of bluegrass music although they are not strict conformists to the genre. Hardcore bluegrass fans may like a great deal of the songs that the Gibson’s perform but they would not consider them to be of the same caliber as the Del McCoury Band, Blue Highway or the Osborne Brothers. The Gibson’s have a unique place in the genre somewhere between the avant garde bluegrass music of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones and more traditional stylists such as Dan Tyminski and his various groups. I think of the Gibsons as being in their own niche; singer/songwriters who do bluegrass, traditional country and even new folk music. They are unique.

To assess a live performance of a band such as the Gibson Brothers one needs to ask a few basic questions. Did the band take full advantage of the characteristics of the venue? Did the band provide music to satisfy their long standing fans? Likewise, did the band provide music to win over the doubters in the audience, especially the hardcore bluegrass types? Did the pacing of the show fit the mood of the audience? Were songs played spanning the entire career of the group? And finally, was the band technically proficient as well as entertaining?

I’ll tackle the last question first. The Gibson Brothers band is as technically proficient as any group playing in bluegrass today. Eric Gibson is a solid banjo player who tends to understate his lines. But when called to the front for solo riffs he is an excellent player and showman. Leigh Gibson on flattop guitar is also a solid player who can carry a solo with some of the finest in the business. But the brothers’ primary instruments are their voices, and this is where they rise above so many other musicians. The harmonies they create, as well as their own individual sounds are uniquely adapted to the songs they write and cover. They take a song and make it their own. After a listener has heard some of the work of these gifted singers he can immediately recognize a new song as being from this band. They’re original. Other members of the band supply the instrumentation that adds to the originality of the group. Mike Barber plays the stand up bass as if born to it. He lays down the rhythmic line so necessary in a group without percussion instruments. But he also adds an interesting dimension of skilled nuance and subtle musical influence. Clayton Campbell on the fiddle is an intense and gifted performer. He can play the dazzling solo or the romantic background line of a soft ballad with equal skill and feeling. And Joe Walsh, mandolinist, has added a new dimension to the band’s driving sound. Joe has been with the group for about ten or eleven months but he sounds as if he was there for years. He is an amazing player, always in the moment, and always contributing in just the right way. This band is a musical powerhouse, technically and artistically.

Last night’s concert took place at the Mainstay, a small town store building that has been rather haphazardly converted into a theater. There is a small stage at the back of the room with a collection of various kinds of seating set up in rows all the way to the front of the building. The seating is eclectic ranging from wicker couches to dining room chairs to folding chairs that may have come from a funeral home. The room is very good acoustically and the lines of sight are all pretty good. Intimacy between the performers and the audience is impossible to avoid due to the small size of the place. Eric and Leigh share the duties of announcing the songs and interacting with the audience. These guys are genuine, nice people. They treat their audience with respect and love. The audience responds in kind. When they came into the room they looked around and said “this is our kind of place” and they used it like it was their living room at home.

The play list for the concert consisted of about twenty vocal numbers and three hard driving instrumentals. Seven songs were from their most recent album and the rest were culled from five older CDs. Story songs, love songs, gospel and traditional bluegrass and country were all represented. Both brothers write with a strong poetic sense about the people, places and things from their youth and experience. They joke about having the corner on the market for songs about the people and places of Franklin and Clinton Counties in northern New York. While that may be true, every one of their songs about that area is understood and identifiable to their entire audience because they are songs of the people. A beautiful anthem to the farm they grew up on, “Farm of Yesterday” is typical of the poetic pieces they write. “Iron and Diamonds” a song about miners and baseball in a small town reaches into the experience of hard working people from near their hometown. This song, incidentally, has been nominated for IBMA song of the year for 2009. They played a railroad song, a mountain song, a couple of gospel songs and even a song about a psychotic homeless guy called “Ragged Man”. They played cover songs from Tom Petty and The Band. So their concert satisfied their oldest fans and the folks who had never been to a Gibson Brothers show.

When it came to winning over the more entrenched bluegrass fans in the audience the Gibsons turned to three very strong, extremely upbeat instrumental pieces. I didn’t record the names of each piece (bad form for a music critic, I know) but they each kicked butt in a serious bluegrass way. Also “I Know Whose Tears”, “Mountain Song”, “Two Dollar Bill” and “Satan’s Jeweled Crown” showed the considerable bluegrass chops of the whole band.

The brothers paced their show to the mood of the audience mixing upbeat and slower songs in a masterful way. They took some requests and had some extremely funny brother to brother verbal exchanges. (By the way Maryland does not have an official state rodent but New York has the beaver.) Before the show, during intermission and after the program the brothers and the other members of the band mingled with the audience, willingly signing autographs and posing for photos. Did I say they were nice guys; well it bears repeating.

So there you have a serious review of the Gibson Brothers concert. It still sounds like a fan letter I guess. But I like good music delivered by good people and these guys are the real deal. Buy their CDs from Amazon or Compass Records online because you probably won’t find them in a lot of record stores, although I have seen some in Border’s and Barnes & Noble. If they come anywhere near your town go to see them. You’ll have a great time. Let me know if you’re going and I’ll probably join you. Yes I’ll buy my own dang ticket.

Have a fine day.

TAKE YOUR MEDICINE

The good old USA has the best health care in world. I guess there’s some debate about that but it has done okay by me. Just the other day my doctor said if it wasn’t for him I’d probably be a goner. Since he’s a significant part of the health care system (as far as I’m concerned) then the fact that I’m upright and walking is confirmation of that claim to be the “best”. I’m not going to get into a big rant here about the current arguments for and against the reform of the health care system. Anyone who knows me knows where I’ll come down on that particular seesaw. To my way of thinking it doesn’t take a lot of logic or observation of the results of previous governmental programs to see the value of a truly competitive private system. But even good private systems are operated by humans and sometimes errors occur and difficulties arise.

For instance, this past Tuesday I realized a couple of my prescriptions needed to be refilled. In fact one of them had no more refills left so I had to call the doctor’s office to get a new one. When I called the office I was told that I had not scheduled the requisite follow up visit yet and must do that before I could get a new prescription. The reason I had not called for that appointment was pretty obvious. My dietary program had done a little backsliding and I was avoiding the lectures my doctor loves to give disobedient patients. But I needed the pills so I told the girl to set up an appointment and call the prescription into the drug store. She said that wouldn’t be necessary because the doctor had a cancellation (another fearful backslider, I bet) and I could pop in at five o’clock. Rats! So I agreed.

A few hours later I was getting the lecture as the doctor re-checked my blood pressure. Apparently he didn’t believe the dangerously high reading that the nurse had gotten a little earlier. When he confirmed the numbers he ratcheted the lecture up a couple of notches. He also did a few more physical examination items just to make sure I wasn’t going to drop dead on my way to the drugstore. My jokes about him being out of business and working for the government if Obama’s plan got fully implemented didn’t help his mood at all. He said it wouldn’t make much difference as far as my case was concerned because my current path to longevity was heading for a big cliff. I’ve know this doctor for over twenty years so we have that kind of playful banter all the time. Unfortunately this time he wasn’t laughing so much.

Well he jacked up my dosage on the blood pressure medicine, which he had reduced about eighteen months ago, and scheduled me for a follow-up and, for good measure and just to show he could get his revenge, also referred me to the evil colonoscopy guys. As you can imagine, my head was hanging low when I left that place.

So I headed to the drugstore to pick up my prescriptions (or “scrips”as those of us who are frequent drug users say) which were electronically sent there by the doctor. I picked up my little package and went home. When I got home I started to fill up my little day of the week pill dispenser. This sectioned off plastic box is a required accessory for us over-medicated senior citizens. When I opened the bottle of what was supposed to be my new medicine I noticed it was the same pink and white color as the old capsule. At first I thought that was nice because I kind of like that look. But when I looked closely at the bottle I saw that the dosage hadn’t been increased. So I grabbed the bottle and got in the truck and headed back to the store. The dummy that waited on me earlier was still there so I told him my problem and he looked blankly at me, then blankly at his computer screen and then blankly back at me again. He said that the bottle matched what the doctor’s office had sent over. I asked him to call the office and get this squared away. But of course by that time of day the office was closed. So I told him I would go there in the morning and get this settled.

This morning I got to the doctor’s office at opening time and after a brief wait of a half hour was allowed to talk to one of the clerks. She said that the proper prescription had been sent over to the pharmacy. I said they didn’t have it and maybe a phone call would get things handled. She said she would check and she disappeared for about fifteen minutes. She came back and said again that the proper prescription had been sent over and that I should go talk to the pharmacist. If there was any further confusion the pharmacist, who has a secret hot-line to doctors, could call at any time. Once again I drove to the pharmacy.

The dummy from yesterday wasn’t working the counter so I talked to today’s dummy. She wanted to settle the matter by spinning the computer screen around and showing me the electronic renewal they had received from the doctor’s office. Since I didn’t have my more powerful medicine yet my blood pressure was up a bit and I kind of exploded, just a little. The pharmacist (and pretty much everyone in the store) heard my string of expletives and quickly arrived to help. She determined that I was unhappy with the way things were going and called the doctor’s office, got a verbal confirmation of the new prescription and in an amazingly short time had it filled.

Just imagine if I had been a lackadaisical customer. I might have gone on to take the lower dose of ineffective medicine and had a major medical event or worse. But I was a savvy consumer and I’ll probably be around for a good long time, especially now that I’m fully back on the weight loss program. Again!

Have a fine day.

BRAINS, BLUES AND BAND-AIDS

There was an article in one of our local newspapers yesterday about brains. It wasn’t about the nutritional value of brains as a food or anything like that. It was about the development of the human brain during various stages of life. One of the major points of the article was that teenage brains are wired differently than smaller children or adults. Well, duh! If that isn’t the most obvious conclusion in the history of medical science then I don’t know what is. They spent thousands and thousands of research dollars to come up with a fact that anyone who has been the parent of a teenager could tell you in ten seconds.

According to the article, when a teenager is faced with a decision – let’s say to drink that beer with his friends, or not – the teenager will not be guided by a logical sequence of thought. He or she will not think “I’m under-age, my parents have warned me about drinking, I’ll get in trouble, and therefore I won’t drink”. No, the kid will think “beer, friends, get drunk, fall down, cool”. Scientists have actually observed the electrical impulses in teenage brains which reflect this kind of thinking, or non-thinking, as it were. My question is, if they can observe this behavior then why can’t they fiddle with the circuitry and fix it? I’m sure it would just be a matter of sticking some ultra thin jumper cables in there somewhere. Every teenager could go into a brain wiring shop when they hit age thirteen and get the upgrade done, just like they all get braces for their teeth. Maybe they could do it at the same time. One small step for mankind, I’d say.

On a different page in the same newspaper there was an article about the blues. It wasn’t about “The Blues” music, it was about blue moods. Once again the article was based on a bunch of scientific research done by psychologists. Basically the research concluded that just about everyone gets into a blue mood once in a while and the causes are extremely varied. Once again I say, well duh! Who in the hell comes up with this stuff?

I read the article with some difficulty because my head was shaking at the preposterousness of every line. Of course, based on the “findings” of this extensive and expensive research the author offered several practical suggestions for “beating the blues”. Some of the suggestions proffered were “take in a movie”, “go out dancing”, “attend a concert” and my favorite “treat yourself to a nice glass of wine”. Can this be the reason people don’t read newspapers anymore?

The other day I cut my finger. You don’t need to know how I cut my finger. Accidents happen, even to smart and careful people. Those of us who aren’t so bright and are somewhat careless have a few more incidents with sharp objects than other folks. But I digress. After cleaning the little wound and putting some antibiotic cream on it I attempted to apply a bandage. The bandage was a Band-Aid brand strip which is usually a good choice. But for some reason this one was acting like the cheap substitutes you find at the dollar stores. So I tossed that one and grabbed another with the same result. I knew the box was pretty fresh because we have two grandsons who go through bandages very quickly, usually because they want some decorative items on their most minor scratches. It was possible that the first aid cream was messing things up so I took one of the largest bandages in the box and applied it to the finger. This one stuck really well. In fact I had put it on a little too tight. When I tried to make it looser it got all messed up and I actually made the cut a little bigger. So then I applied a little more of the cream and put some pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding which had started again. There was only one of the large bandages left in the box so I knew I had to make this one work. The bleeding slowed to a slight oozing and I carefully applied the bandage. It was perfect. So I went back to the chore that I was working on when I got cut. I plunged my hands back into the soapy water to finish washing the dishes. The Band-Aid promptly slid off. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own stupidity. You don’t have to agree, you know.

Have a fine day.