A Bear in the Yard

Visitors Descending

We have survived another Christmas season in spite of continuing challenges and maybe secret messages proclaiming doom

Secret messages? “What do they say?” you ask.

The pleas for liberty are becoming endless. Look around you. People are foregoing masks and who knows what other forms of protection from the three monsters, Covid and its varying variants, The Flu and its feverish scare, and RSV if you don’t mind gasping for breath.

And yet we are all sick (to death?) of worrying. Sick of hand sanitizing and self isolations, and sick of avoiding other human beings. This all brings me to our current status.

1. We had most of the family here at one time for various birthdays – all in November.
2. Our oldest grandgirl is arriving within hours today for an overnight with her significant other and we are hoping they will announce a pending engagement to be married. This is exciting news but we plan to have breakfast out in a real restaurant tomorrow (which means more people interaction and germ exchange).
3. Then an old friend who is not as old as we are is coming tomorrow and planning to stay with us through New Year’s Eve, Day, and some days after that before returning to Georgetown, DC. She is a newly doting grandma with many pictures to share. But think about the infested places she will be before arriving here and the buggy aftermath of hugging little ones.

Try as we might, the truth is we can no longer isolate or even mask our way out of the dreaded EXPOSURE!

“Let us out,” we cry! “We have had enough..

We crave companionship and family and friends.

Bring them on!

Visitors are descending and we are actually looking forward to seeing them all!

A Water Story

Our Pool Before and yes, that is a bull thinking about going for a swim.

I’m baaaack! Or am I? This recent writer’s block has seemed endless, much like the Covid pandemic that has kept me housebound for what is turning into years, and in that time discovering I love being a “homebody.”

But there is another story to be told and it goes like this:

Once upon a time in 1989 when Bill and I first retired in Camelot, I insisted we needed a swimming pool to make life complete. And so, ever eager to please, Bill made sure a giant hole in the ground was dug and thousands of tons of water brought in and lo and behold we had a lovely in-ground pool that was 8 feet deep at the deep end. And then Bill built a sweet little pump house that made the whole pool look like something in a a fairy tale. And there were vivid experiences and pool stories to tell. Like what about the time a neighbor’s horse ran onto the winter cover and almost drowned? Or how about the recent visits from enormous bulls who live at the nearby cattle company?

But each summer we basked in the beauty of sparkling water that was kept sparkling by all the work Bill did for maintenance and chemical warfare. Once in a while the timing was right and our son and grandgirls would visit and it was a joy to hear their sweet voices playing water games. And how luxurious it all was to swim with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains and if you didn’t look too closely over time you might forget the encroaching weeds along the borders. And as the years went by there were less and less visits at the right time of year for swimming.

And suddenly it was 2022 and time to open the pool again only this time I couldn’t get down there walking over uneven ground with recurring Big Foot problems and Bill was sick and tired of the rigors of reopening and maintaining. And so, we decided to plow everything in.

Watching the demolition of a memory was endlessly fascinating as a local farmer who also has an excavating company came in with a front end loader and a big thing with a scoop and finished the job in three days. And the pool is gone.

The next step is to have it reseeded for grass and covered with straw to deter avian hunger And they say September is the best month to do just that. Our order is in and hopefully, come spring there will be a long stretch of beautiful green parklike pasture.

Camelot is not quite the same as it had been for 33 years and I am still feeling a bit sad over the demise of such a special feature. Hopefuly those who follow us will once again enjoy the unspoiled landscape or maybe even dig another hole like we did for another 33 years of swimming in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

Falling in Love Again

Elsa-the-Dog and I have started taking early morning strolls. Because we tend to overfeed her she is slightly round and I think she needs to run. So, every morning Elsa eagerly looks for a stray squirrel or a deer to chase and I let her go! She doesn’t run into the woods to follow the wild critters out of my sight, but she runs like a wild thing down the road and to the edge of our Forest Primeval. Great exercise!

And it should be noted that I always let her out quietly so the critters will be in sight and not scared off first thing in the morning. Elsa gives chase, gets her morning run, and the wild critters seem to enjoy the whole thing too.

But yesterday morning there was an unexpected visitor.

Elsa came face to face with a great big SKUNK!

There was no barking but there was a confrontation. The skunk turned its back and raised its tail and Elsa backed away. Then the skunk tried to waddle off and Elsa followed. It was like she wanted to keep Mr. Skunk for a friend! Maybe the critter thought Elsa was another (albino?) skunk. They were about the same size but Elsa is a mix of browns, blacks, whites and golds.

No amount of screaming, “Elsa – COME!” from my long distance away had any effect on either of them. Elsa moved in, the skunk tried to run, Elsa moved in again, etc.

Crestfallen about what I was facing to remove the skunk scent, I gave up calling and turned back. But here came Elsa. She finally bade farewell to Mr. Skunk and returned to my side – no doubt expecting compliments, cookies and adulation for coming when she was called.

I was terrified of her approach, expecting the onslaught of painful smells. Having dealt with that scent in the past with other dogs, I knew what to expect.

In fact I once did a blog post about clearing the aisles in a Dollar Store when I carried the skunk scent and didn’t realize it.

But there was Elsa at my feet looking guilty – – – WITH NO SCENT!

I knelt down to give her a sniff but smelled nothing but the great outdoors.

A fleeting thought…was this a symptom of Covid? Losing the sense of smell?

Who ever heard of anyone coming face-to-butt with a skunk and not getting sprayed?

Was Mr. Skunk handicapped (missing his scent glands)?

Did Mr. Skunk use up his spray on something else?

You know what I think?

I think Elsa was non-threatening and communicated a message that she only wanted a friend. Or maybe they were both falling in love. After all, we are just coming to Valentine’s Day. She never even barked one bark or growled one growl. And I think Mr. Skunk recognized and honored her overwhelming wish for love. So much for logical explanations and good country stories.

Nevertheless, in future I do plan to send out morning warnings like rattling doorknobs, banging on things and uttering loud cries as we emerge from the house for morning strolls.

Meanwhile I have learned that Skunk mating season does peak around Valentine’s Day.

“Male skunks begin stirring and wooing female skunks around the second week of February. Females refusing this courtship will spray in defense. Thankfully, skunk mating season only lasts from mid-February through mid-April!”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY and A MESSAGE OF LOVE FROM ELSA AND MR. SKUNK!

TeleVisiting to Bare Your Soul

Photo by Tracy Le Blanc on CovidPexels.com

Have you noticed there is an in-between method of dealing with the medical world that comes short of Emergency Room visits and even eliminates in-person appointments?

It began for me with BigFoot. Remember him/her? About the time I was really getting plagued by pain and questions, that is when Covid hit.

Being in the Senior Set I was doing everything possible to isolate and that meant biting my nails over meeting MDs in their own offices, clinics or hospitals.

I began cancelling appointments.

Until one doctor suggested Tele-Visits.

We had 3 of those over a few months and in some ways our conversations were even more educating than if we had met in person.

And although I was and am still hesitant to bare my soul to a relative stranger, the comfort of distance is making it easier to loosen my tongue. Those were my first TeleVisits and I found them enjoyable, particularly if I placed the phone on my right ear (the one with more acute hearing).

I went from talking to an orthopedic doctor on the phone to working next with a would-be Health Coach. Ever hear of that?

My Sweet Health Coach needed people to practice on until she could get accredited. The work was all done by phone and computer.

I think it was a Zoom meeting.

Being part of the resistant Senior Set, I have steadfastly resisted understanding anything about Zooming.

Zooming is what my little dog, Elsa does when she is happy. She gets the Zoomies and runs through the house in wild abandon.

Anyway, I worked with my would-be Health Coach (on the phone) and it was probably similar to psychiatric sessions with Sigmund Freud. I never met Sigmund but I imagine he must have been a good listener.

So, I bared my soul and my Coach would nod verbally as if she really understood my problems. Oddly enough the calls helped. Maybe I just needed to talk.

Finally when Covid slowed down a little I made an appointment with a Dietician to see if I could get guidance on healthy eating. The last book I read on nutrition was Let’s Eat Right to Keep Fit by Adelle Davis, written in 1954. I still love that book even though whole chapters should be ignored.

But I learned a lot at my first meeting with the nutritionist and made an appointment #2 but then Covid came back and we arranged a TeleVisit.

And once again I am baring my soul over the phone lines and I am sure everything I say and my inner most secrets are even being recorded!

It seems to me the whole world has now fallen into a no-touch medical environment that promotes talking, talking and more talking and the value of touchy feely connections is getting lost (or is already gone missing) in a computer connected society.

I do highly recommend TeleVisits though. It is a place where you can at least bare your soul.

Dear Customer

I live in rural Virginia, in the Shenandoah Valley in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and on the other side too, in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains. In other words: Where exactly do I live?

To make matters even more confusing, I live just off a State Road on a private road, but my mail box is located on the State Road about a mile down the private road. The residents of my community pay yearly fees to take care of the private road. But I am told the State Road is maintained by the County, especially when it snows.

Are you confused yet?

We had a fairly big seven inch snow a few weeks ago. The private road was plowed by my community and the State road portion was plowed by the County.

We were all hugely grateful for the combined effort to allow us all to get out in an emergency.

However……….

The County managed to leave huge mounds of compacted snow in front of our mailboxes which are on the State Road – not the private road. At any rate, a bank of four mailboxes was plowed in.

I was with Bill when he tried to pick up our mail by balancing atop the mound, holding onto the car with one arm and the mailbox with the other in a shaky attempt to retrieve the mail. Not good for us over-the-hillers for sure. How the mail lady managed to deliver was a mystery too.

As we were rejoicing about how well things were managed here in times of crisis there appeared a notice in our mailbox entitled United States Postal Service – Approaches to Curbside Mailboxes. And it read:

“Dear Customer, The Postal Service depends on you to meet postal requirements regarding delivery and collection of mail to curbside boxes. Please keep the full approach and exits to your mailbox clear as illustrated in the examples below. Removing trashcans, snow, vehicles, and any other objects from the area allows the carrier to deliver your mail safely and efficiently without exiting the vehicle.”

• The State owns the road connecting to our private road.

• There is a bank of mailboxes on the State Road.

• The County plowed the State Road after a snowstorm.

• The County blocked access to the mailboxes for Postal Service personnel and its customers.

And the USPS says,

“Dear Customer,

You are responsible.

Clean up this mess.”

Smile!

Thanksgiving with son, daughter-in-law and three Grandgirls. Do we look cold?

Canine Hysteria

On one of our vet runs to have Elsa’s nails cut, the vet did some blood work too.

“It is as I expected,” he said, “She is hypothyroid.”

And so our little rescue dog must have been exhibiting signs of this hormone imbalance which tends to make humans lethargic and prone to weight gain. Elsa is a bit on the roly-poly side for sure.

In addition, in the olden days people used to describe women with thyroid problems as “hysterical.”

That could describe Elsa too.

She is at least paranoid if not hysterical. And now that I know she is hypothyroid I would definitely say she was/is hysterical.

She breaks out in shakes and shivers from unknown unseen dangers. I used to blame it all on her maybe being abused in her previous lives with other not so nice people.

She has severe separation anxiety.

She will not touch dog toys and doesn’t know how to play.

And she is not only food driven but is food protective.

Now Elsa is on thyroid pills twice a day. The vet says it will probably help her lose weight too.

We already notice a new dog in Elsa’s body. She runs more and wants to stay outside more in spite of snow and ice.

The other stuff remains the same and we return to the vet mid February to assess progress.

A hysterical dog may be just like a hysterical woman.

Who knew?

A Ghost of Snowstorms Past

Being Florida born and bred I have never quite adjusted to snow events. A world transformed by white was out of the realm of my imagination and the first snow I ever saw I was 21 years old in Big Bear City, California. That snow was called Tapioca for its tapioca-like pellets, and I have never seen the likes of it since.

And then we had a whopper of an event a day or so ago here in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. That storm named Izzy dumped seven inches that froze in place and dredged up lots of memories of other winters right here in rural Virginia.

In the early days years ago such a snow created magnificent excitement for those of us young enough to enjoy prepping and shoveling or just going outside to experience raw nature.

That was when my mother was living with us and I would call the power company and whine about having an elderly woman here who could not take the cold. Mom has been gone a long time and guess who is elderly here now!

In the old days we had to keep stocked up on wood for the woodstove, and I saved water in bathtubs, washing machines, and in any containers I could find, candles too, and lots and lots of comforters and blankets to cozy up in. I made stew that could be reheated on the wood stove. Never mind that it might take six hours to be heated to a palatable stage. And we got out the shovels too.

This latest storm has been a vastly different story.

The power stayed on but even if it went out the difference is we installed a whole house generator!

And because we have this remarkable new technology I should be happy to exclaim, “Let it snow.”

Because now:

There will be running water no matter what.

The microwave will work.

The toaster too.

The heat never goes off.

The freezer keeps on running.

Lights only go out for 10 seconds before the generator kicks in.

No candles necessary.

Progress! A better life. A safer future.

Then why do I feel sad? Maybe it is like people felt when the automobile replaced the horse and carriage. This first real winter storm since we got the generator has left me with a sort of wrung out memory. It was a ghost snowstorm that brought up all my old memories of bustling around preparing for a worst scenario.

I still keep a few jarred candles in a secret cupboard just in case. They are lonely reminders of more eventful days when I placed candles in every room and flashlights too.

I still filled two pitchers with water just in case. They are reminders that the need for water was paramount. Filling tanks and tubs and containers was a busy job indeed.

The wood stove has not been lit with a real fire in a long time. It once kept us so warm at times I had to open windows. There is still plenty in the woodpile but waiting for a forgotten necessity.

Yes, I did go through the motions of all the preparations I used to do, but eventually realized I could just sit back and watch the snow. There was that little glimmer of excitement as I watched the first flakes come floating down, but I actually longed to be in survival mode with all the old frantic preparations. I missed working to make my home ready to combat nature and then to bundle up in Aunt Millie’s crocheted afghan, enjoying reheated stew warmed for six hours on the woodstove.

A Dental Diary in the Blog-Us-Fear

Photo by Cedric Fauntleroy on Pexels.com

This sometimes feels like a medical diary created especially to form a deadly boring buzz in the Blog-us-Fear. But lately the medical world crashes into my real world and takes over. The last encounter actually has begun to interest me (if it doesn’t kill me first). I am hoping it will interest you too.

As you may know, I had total hip replacement surgery in July of 2021. Everything went perfectly and the hip is like new. Well, it is new…. not just like new.

Hips and teeth do not seem to have any connection but this story began in early September after the hip replacement. It all began with tooth pain…. like sensitivity to cold and pressure.

Now think about this. At the close of hip surgery I was handed a sheet of instructions to give to my dentist and told that I will have to take antibiotics for life before having any dental work done, including simple things like cleaning. Evidently infections in the mouth will travel directly to an implant (in this case, the artificial hip) and that will wreak havoc on the entire body.

The story began in early September (just two months from my hip surgery) when I felt an odd little pain in a lower left tooth. It did not seem crucial so I waited a few days. On September 8, 2021 I visited the hip surgeon for a last follow-up meeting and had no pain at that time either.

But on September 9, 2021 a real sensitivity to cold and pressure returned and I knew there was something wrong. “Probably just a cavity,” I thought so I called the dentist. The receptionist put me on hold while the dentist checked my records and when she returned she said, “The doctor says he sees nothing wrong in your chart. Please begin brushing with a sensitivity toothpaste for a week and then call again if the pain persists.” I was amazed that the new toothpaste worked after a week and I didn’t call back. However the pain returned off and on so the dentist finally decided to take Xrays and to look at the tooth for me. The results of the Xrays showed nothing, nor did a “look-see” show anything. “Stay on the sensitivity toothpaste,” was the admonition, and do not rinse.” And so it went. Until January 2022.

For two days early January 2022 I suffered intense pain with no added stimulation. Then the pain went into swelling to create the face of a ghoul! Though I tried to be brave and use my sensitivity toothpaste correctly, I called. And I got a rapidly arranged appointment with the dentist for more Xrays since evidently a swollen face is good enough reason to be concerned. On January 6, 2022 I was finally diagnosed with an abscess, given a high dose of antibiotics, and referred to an Oral Surgeon. On January 7, 2022 the surgeon removed the tooth. There was an unmistakable urgency to get all this done.

And there you have it….. the evolving story of a tooth that was basically ignored and a dentist who forgot about my hip surgery and the dangers of infection travelling to that site and the possibility of sepsis and all sorts of potential side effects like death.

Should the dentist have started me on antibiotics “just in case” as a precautionary measure? How dangerous was it to my life and limbs to ignore a possible infection reported just two months post hip surgery? How dangerous was it to let this go from September 2021 to January 2022?

It is a happier day today since the swollen face is looking a little better. I am on heavy duty antibiotics for a total of 6 days. Hopefully none of this infection will move around to attack vulnerable areas.

“Such is life” and modern medicine!

Lemme know what you think.