Hiatus
Oy. The last time I posted was 25 July, almost a month ago. I've missed you all...I have, I have!...but the worst of it, from my point of view, is that I'm having a hard time recalling accurately what the hell I did during that month and the sequence of events. My LJ is a vital extension of my memory. Fortunately, I snapped some snaps along the way with my cell phone so all is not lost, merely a bit blurry.
On Saturday, August 1, my friend Joan picked me up, and we drove to Philadelphia International Airport to pick up Liz:
I met both Joan and Liz through my Dunnett fandom: as all here know,
FANDOM RULES
Liz used to live within an easy drive of both Joan and me until she retired to Pittsburgh. (Pittsburgh!!? Well, both her now-grown children moved there, so she and her husband followed.)
Joan lives in Blackwood, NJ, so we drove to nearby Collingswood, walked around for a hour, then had a nice dinner at the Kitchen Consigliere. Joan's summers revolve around the Cooper River Yacht Club, so she asked us if we'd like to see it. I certainly wanted to; I am always interested in the places that are important to my friends.
The view of the Cooper River from the club's porch. We sat out on the porch for almost an hour, enjoying the breeze and the view.
Lest you get the wrong impression of Joan's financial status, she is not one of the 1%. She sails a second-hand Sunfish.
On Sunday, we got up and were out of the house by 8:00 in order to pick up free tickets to the Barnes Foundation. When we were planning our mini-reunion, Liz said she had never been to the Barnes. Fortuitously, we discovered that admission is free on the first Sunday of every month, so we made sure to be in line in plenty of time to collect one each. While we waited, Liz couldn't stop exclaiming about how lovely the sun was. Pittsburgh, it seems, is often over-cast.
Reflecting pool at the entrance to the Barnes.
After we had the tickets firmly clutched in our hot little hands, we went to Sabrina's for breakfast. The food was fine, but the restaurant was crowded and noisy and we felt rushed by the line waiting for our table. When we had finished, it was off to the Barnes.
I had been to the Barnes once before with my friend, Judy, but Judy is impatient with museums. Whatever she sees in an hour and a half is all she's going to see...if she lasts even that long. Liz and Joan (who had also been to the Barnes when it was in Merion, PA) are far more thorough. Me...I'm versatile; either method works for me.
About half-way through our tour, I noticed a docent with a sticker on her chic little dress that said, "Ask Me A Question." Unfortunately, she had on a second sticker that said, "Private Tour," thus negating Sticker #1. However, about half an hour later I saw the same docent alone and without Sticker #2, so I asked her my question, "Why are some pictures hung over the very high doorways, so that they are difficult to see?" She answered my question - Albert Barnes never intended his Foundation to be a museum, he intended it to be an institution of learning where students would climb up on ladders to view the paintings - and spent more than an hour with the three of us, explaining other works. She made our visit so much more meaningful. Albert would have been pleased.
One thing was a bit embarrassing: she loved the top I was wearing and the necklace I had paired it with:
I love the top, too, and I think the necklace goes with it perfectly, but she could have been briefer in her praise since she had nothing to say about Liz and Joan's outfits.
It was after 4:00 p.m. when we left the Barnes. After a stop for some bubble tea, we went back to Collingswood where we had an excellent dinner at Oceana, a recently opened restaurant. Liz and I split the check for every meal, and by this time Joan had stopped fighting us. She was such a great host!
On Monday we drove down to the Jersey shore, to Cape May at its very tip, and enjoyed the sun and sand although we didn't go on the beach. I don't think Joan enjoys getting sandy. Once there, we went to Uncle Bill's Pancake House for lunch. Apparently Uncle Bill's is a Cape May fixture, but I'd never been there before. None of us had pancakes. I don't much like pancakes.
After lunch I bought a sun hat and then we strolled along the boardwalk:
Joan and Liz are both a little younger than I am: approaching or just past the 70 year mark. Joan is much more fit than I am, and Liz is ridiculously less fit. We did a whole lot of sitting on benches to let Liz recover from what I thought was very short walks.
After the boardwalk, we walked back to the car on side streets so we could admire the many Victorian homes:
The next morning, Tuesday the 4th, we took Liz to the airport to rent a car for the next couple of days as she visited friends and family in the area before going home. After we dropped Liz off, Joan took me home. A lovely interlude was over.
I can't now remember where I had been or what I'd been doing -- see why I need to keep up with LJ -- but on my way home, I walked along 9th Street, next to Pennsylvania Hospital. That block has brick paving and, next to the wall, flagstones. I was walking on the flagstones because they are more even than the bricks when my foot caught on an edge. I lurched forward, my feet got tangled up in the new pair of thong sandals I was wearing, and down I went.
My first reaction was relief that I hadn't concussed myself again. I scraped my right knee, I had two tiny raw spots on my right hand, and my left hand hurt, but as an experienced faller, I knew none of them were serious injuries. I felt shock-y, though, so I walked the two blocks to my house very carefully. Once home, I sat down to read and immediately fell asleep in my chair.
An hour later, I was awakened by the intense pain in my left hand. I knew I needed to see my doctor, so I decided to wait until the next morning and then call him. My hand really hurt. After a while, I remembered that the next day was Saturday, and my doctor wouldn't be in the office. I might as well go to the Emergency Room (E.R.) around the corner at Pennsylvania Hospital now and get it over with. I was scheduled to take the train to Karen's in Virginia on Sunday, and I wanted get whatever needed doing to my hand done so I could still go.
I won't go into the details of my ordeal at the E.R. Suffice it to say that I got there at 8:30 p.m., I told them my pain level was an 8 or 9 out of a possible 10, but it was still midnight before I saw a Physician's Assistant (P.A.), and after midnight before I got my first pain pill. Believe me, between 8:30 and midnight, I asked how much longer I had to wait and said I needed something for the pain at least three times, probably more. I never got an answer to either the length of the wait nor did I get any acknowledgement of my pain level.
I did have x-rays done by a sympathetic and gentle x-ray technician; the x-ray department gets an A. When I did finally see the P.A., she said I had a chipped bone, splinted the wrist, and sent me home. That's when the experience really went to hell in a hand basket.
One of the many aides at the nurse's station escorted me to the E.R. exit and turned me loose. No one asked me if someone were waiting for me, if someone was going to pick me up, or how I was going to get home. I am 77-years-old, I had just had a pain pill less than an hour ago on an empty stomach, and it was the middle of the night. I thought that was callous.
I followed the signage to the street and, despite having lived only two-and-a-half blocks away for thirty years, found myself confused as to where exactly I was. I walked around the nearest corner, and as soon as I saw the brilliantly lit entrance to the E.R., I knew I was on Spruce. There were no taxis around and none were likely to appear at that hour, so I turned around and started walking very slowly and very carefully home. I was terrified of falling again. Then, seeing how deserted the street was, I began worrying about being vulnerable to a purse snatching or other attack. I was wearing a sweater, so I took it off and draped it over my wounded wing so that my splint was hidden.
I made it home safely, put myself to bed, and called John and Pam first thing the next morning.
Anytime I want to appear pathetic, all I have to do is take a picture of myself in my old, ratty, too big pajamas...as you can see.
As soon as she could get showered and dressed, Pam swooped down on me Saturday morning, coffee and a bagel in hand, went to the drugstore and picked up my pain prescription, and made sure I didn't need anything else at the moment. She and John came back at dinner time with dinner, and she packed my bag for me so that I could still go to Staunton, VA, the next day. She also liked my treacherous red thong sandals and they fit her. I gave the traitors away.
The next morning, Pam picked me up at 7:45 a.m., took me to the train station, bought me coffee and a muffin for breakfast, and rounded up a Red Cap to get me on the train. I am so fortunate.
I've been going down to see my niece, Karen, and her husband, Bruce, once or twice a year ever since they moved to Staunton, VA, a couple of years ago. Ironically I know them better now than I did when they lived in Newark, DE.
This time I told them, "I am going to be the boringest guest you ever had." All I wanted to do was eat Bruce's delicious, inventive food, work on my baby quilt on their screened-in porch, and read. They did manage to inveigle me into doing something more almost everyday, but it wasn't necessary.
Their house. They have three bedrooms which is quite convenient for visiting aunts.
I had barely begun working on the quilt before I left for Virginia. After working three or four hours a day, for five days, this is how much I had done.
This is what I have left to do.
I planned to give the quilt as a birth gift for a baby due in October. While I might have achieved more if I hadn't had one hand in a splint, it wouldn't have been that much more. I have come to the conclusion that the baby hasn't been conceived that will get this quilt. In the meantime I'm waiting for three bibs to be delivered. I'll have a chance of finishing in 2015.
As for our activities, on one night we went to see "A Winter's Tale," at the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton. I must say I was not swept off my feet. The Center puts on its plays as they would have been done in Shakespeare's time, including no amplification and no darkening of the theater. Even though it's a small theater, I still have a hard time hearing every word as the players move around the stage. I much prefer Shakespeare as done by the Lantern Theater Company in Philadelphia on an even smaller stage and with, in general, better articulation by the players. Karen had to poke me in the ribs during the first act to keep me awake.
On another night we went to Staunton's cute little movie theater and saw "Mission Impossible - Rogue Nation." Since a movie theater must be darkened, Karen didn't realize that she needed to poke me in the ribs to keep me awake during the first half of the movie. I have a real problem with night life lately.
One nice evening after dinner, I suggested that we take one of their four dogs for a walk. They are fostering Coco, a beautiful 11-month-old pup who spent her first six months in a crate at the SPCA. Consequently she is just learning how to interact with both dogs and people. She is making progress but she is a high energy pup, and she needs to be exercised...a lot. I suggested this walk because in the week I was there, this was the first time any of their dogs were walked. The other dogs are older, but still.... And Coco would be a lot easier to live with if she were more tired more often.
Coco and Bruce.
The next afternoon, Friday, August 14, the weather was gorgeous. Karen had a client interested in relocating to Staunton, so she suggested Bruce and I spend the afternoon at Lake Sherando. We took Boots, a five-year-old Border collie, with us.
Where we parked ourselves. I had my quilt with me; Bruce read; Boots sniffed in a wide circle. It was a delightful afternoon.
Boots is not available for adoption. He's a sweetheart. He didn't get much exercise though, just the short walk to and from the car.
Bruce and Karen drove me to Charlottesville around noon on Saturday, August 15, and put me on the train. I arrived home to a tumultuous reception:
You can see how much I was missed.
On Saturday, August 1, my friend Joan picked me up, and we drove to Philadelphia International Airport to pick up Liz:
I met both Joan and Liz through my Dunnett fandom: as all here know,
FANDOM RULES
Liz used to live within an easy drive of both Joan and me until she retired to Pittsburgh. (Pittsburgh!!? Well, both her now-grown children moved there, so she and her husband followed.)
Joan lives in Blackwood, NJ, so we drove to nearby Collingswood, walked around for a hour, then had a nice dinner at the Kitchen Consigliere. Joan's summers revolve around the Cooper River Yacht Club, so she asked us if we'd like to see it. I certainly wanted to; I am always interested in the places that are important to my friends.
The view of the Cooper River from the club's porch. We sat out on the porch for almost an hour, enjoying the breeze and the view.
Lest you get the wrong impression of Joan's financial status, she is not one of the 1%. She sails a second-hand Sunfish.
On Sunday, we got up and were out of the house by 8:00 in order to pick up free tickets to the Barnes Foundation. When we were planning our mini-reunion, Liz said she had never been to the Barnes. Fortuitously, we discovered that admission is free on the first Sunday of every month, so we made sure to be in line in plenty of time to collect one each. While we waited, Liz couldn't stop exclaiming about how lovely the sun was. Pittsburgh, it seems, is often over-cast.
Reflecting pool at the entrance to the Barnes.
After we had the tickets firmly clutched in our hot little hands, we went to Sabrina's for breakfast. The food was fine, but the restaurant was crowded and noisy and we felt rushed by the line waiting for our table. When we had finished, it was off to the Barnes.
I had been to the Barnes once before with my friend, Judy, but Judy is impatient with museums. Whatever she sees in an hour and a half is all she's going to see...if she lasts even that long. Liz and Joan (who had also been to the Barnes when it was in Merion, PA) are far more thorough. Me...I'm versatile; either method works for me.
About half-way through our tour, I noticed a docent with a sticker on her chic little dress that said, "Ask Me A Question." Unfortunately, she had on a second sticker that said, "Private Tour," thus negating Sticker #1. However, about half an hour later I saw the same docent alone and without Sticker #2, so I asked her my question, "Why are some pictures hung over the very high doorways, so that they are difficult to see?" She answered my question - Albert Barnes never intended his Foundation to be a museum, he intended it to be an institution of learning where students would climb up on ladders to view the paintings - and spent more than an hour with the three of us, explaining other works. She made our visit so much more meaningful. Albert would have been pleased.
One thing was a bit embarrassing: she loved the top I was wearing and the necklace I had paired it with:
I love the top, too, and I think the necklace goes with it perfectly, but she could have been briefer in her praise since she had nothing to say about Liz and Joan's outfits.
It was after 4:00 p.m. when we left the Barnes. After a stop for some bubble tea, we went back to Collingswood where we had an excellent dinner at Oceana, a recently opened restaurant. Liz and I split the check for every meal, and by this time Joan had stopped fighting us. She was such a great host!
On Monday we drove down to the Jersey shore, to Cape May at its very tip, and enjoyed the sun and sand although we didn't go on the beach. I don't think Joan enjoys getting sandy. Once there, we went to Uncle Bill's Pancake House for lunch. Apparently Uncle Bill's is a Cape May fixture, but I'd never been there before. None of us had pancakes. I don't much like pancakes.
After lunch I bought a sun hat and then we strolled along the boardwalk:
Joan and Liz are both a little younger than I am: approaching or just past the 70 year mark. Joan is much more fit than I am, and Liz is ridiculously less fit. We did a whole lot of sitting on benches to let Liz recover from what I thought was very short walks.
After the boardwalk, we walked back to the car on side streets so we could admire the many Victorian homes:
The next morning, Tuesday the 4th, we took Liz to the airport to rent a car for the next couple of days as she visited friends and family in the area before going home. After we dropped Liz off, Joan took me home. A lovely interlude was over.
I can't now remember where I had been or what I'd been doing -- see why I need to keep up with LJ -- but on my way home, I walked along 9th Street, next to Pennsylvania Hospital. That block has brick paving and, next to the wall, flagstones. I was walking on the flagstones because they are more even than the bricks when my foot caught on an edge. I lurched forward, my feet got tangled up in the new pair of thong sandals I was wearing, and down I went.
My first reaction was relief that I hadn't concussed myself again. I scraped my right knee, I had two tiny raw spots on my right hand, and my left hand hurt, but as an experienced faller, I knew none of them were serious injuries. I felt shock-y, though, so I walked the two blocks to my house very carefully. Once home, I sat down to read and immediately fell asleep in my chair.
An hour later, I was awakened by the intense pain in my left hand. I knew I needed to see my doctor, so I decided to wait until the next morning and then call him. My hand really hurt. After a while, I remembered that the next day was Saturday, and my doctor wouldn't be in the office. I might as well go to the Emergency Room (E.R.) around the corner at Pennsylvania Hospital now and get it over with. I was scheduled to take the train to Karen's in Virginia on Sunday, and I wanted get whatever needed doing to my hand done so I could still go.
I won't go into the details of my ordeal at the E.R. Suffice it to say that I got there at 8:30 p.m., I told them my pain level was an 8 or 9 out of a possible 10, but it was still midnight before I saw a Physician's Assistant (P.A.), and after midnight before I got my first pain pill. Believe me, between 8:30 and midnight, I asked how much longer I had to wait and said I needed something for the pain at least three times, probably more. I never got an answer to either the length of the wait nor did I get any acknowledgement of my pain level.
I did have x-rays done by a sympathetic and gentle x-ray technician; the x-ray department gets an A. When I did finally see the P.A., she said I had a chipped bone, splinted the wrist, and sent me home. That's when the experience really went to hell in a hand basket.
One of the many aides at the nurse's station escorted me to the E.R. exit and turned me loose. No one asked me if someone were waiting for me, if someone was going to pick me up, or how I was going to get home. I am 77-years-old, I had just had a pain pill less than an hour ago on an empty stomach, and it was the middle of the night. I thought that was callous.
I followed the signage to the street and, despite having lived only two-and-a-half blocks away for thirty years, found myself confused as to where exactly I was. I walked around the nearest corner, and as soon as I saw the brilliantly lit entrance to the E.R., I knew I was on Spruce. There were no taxis around and none were likely to appear at that hour, so I turned around and started walking very slowly and very carefully home. I was terrified of falling again. Then, seeing how deserted the street was, I began worrying about being vulnerable to a purse snatching or other attack. I was wearing a sweater, so I took it off and draped it over my wounded wing so that my splint was hidden.
I made it home safely, put myself to bed, and called John and Pam first thing the next morning.
Anytime I want to appear pathetic, all I have to do is take a picture of myself in my old, ratty, too big pajamas...as you can see.
As soon as she could get showered and dressed, Pam swooped down on me Saturday morning, coffee and a bagel in hand, went to the drugstore and picked up my pain prescription, and made sure I didn't need anything else at the moment. She and John came back at dinner time with dinner, and she packed my bag for me so that I could still go to Staunton, VA, the next day. She also liked my treacherous red thong sandals and they fit her. I gave the traitors away.
The next morning, Pam picked me up at 7:45 a.m., took me to the train station, bought me coffee and a muffin for breakfast, and rounded up a Red Cap to get me on the train. I am so fortunate.
I've been going down to see my niece, Karen, and her husband, Bruce, once or twice a year ever since they moved to Staunton, VA, a couple of years ago. Ironically I know them better now than I did when they lived in Newark, DE.
This time I told them, "I am going to be the boringest guest you ever had." All I wanted to do was eat Bruce's delicious, inventive food, work on my baby quilt on their screened-in porch, and read. They did manage to inveigle me into doing something more almost everyday, but it wasn't necessary.
Their house. They have three bedrooms which is quite convenient for visiting aunts.
I had barely begun working on the quilt before I left for Virginia. After working three or four hours a day, for five days, this is how much I had done.
This is what I have left to do.
I planned to give the quilt as a birth gift for a baby due in October. While I might have achieved more if I hadn't had one hand in a splint, it wouldn't have been that much more. I have come to the conclusion that the baby hasn't been conceived that will get this quilt. In the meantime I'm waiting for three bibs to be delivered. I'll have a chance of finishing in 2015.
As for our activities, on one night we went to see "A Winter's Tale," at the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton. I must say I was not swept off my feet. The Center puts on its plays as they would have been done in Shakespeare's time, including no amplification and no darkening of the theater. Even though it's a small theater, I still have a hard time hearing every word as the players move around the stage. I much prefer Shakespeare as done by the Lantern Theater Company in Philadelphia on an even smaller stage and with, in general, better articulation by the players. Karen had to poke me in the ribs during the first act to keep me awake.
On another night we went to Staunton's cute little movie theater and saw "Mission Impossible - Rogue Nation." Since a movie theater must be darkened, Karen didn't realize that she needed to poke me in the ribs to keep me awake during the first half of the movie. I have a real problem with night life lately.
One nice evening after dinner, I suggested that we take one of their four dogs for a walk. They are fostering Coco, a beautiful 11-month-old pup who spent her first six months in a crate at the SPCA. Consequently she is just learning how to interact with both dogs and people. She is making progress but she is a high energy pup, and she needs to be exercised...a lot. I suggested this walk because in the week I was there, this was the first time any of their dogs were walked. The other dogs are older, but still.... And Coco would be a lot easier to live with if she were more tired more often.
Coco and Bruce.
The next afternoon, Friday, August 14, the weather was gorgeous. Karen had a client interested in relocating to Staunton, so she suggested Bruce and I spend the afternoon at Lake Sherando. We took Boots, a five-year-old Border collie, with us.
Where we parked ourselves. I had my quilt with me; Bruce read; Boots sniffed in a wide circle. It was a delightful afternoon.
Boots is not available for adoption. He's a sweetheart. He didn't get much exercise though, just the short walk to and from the car.
Bruce and Karen drove me to Charlottesville around noon on Saturday, August 15, and put me on the train. I arrived home to a tumultuous reception:
You can see how much I was missed.