Archive » January 2017 » Columns

by Frank L. Palmeri

If you watch or play sports, you know that injuries are inevitable. When you hear that an athlete is having surgery and will be out for a while, you just accept it and move on because it happens so often.

I never thought much about this until I had surgery recently. Let me tell you, when it’s you that is under the knife, you realize that there is nothing at all routine about surgery.

In my case, I had to be at the hospital at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m. for an early morning surgical procedure. Thankfully, I had my lovely wife to escort me.

I can’t imagine doing something like this on my own, though I know some are forced to and that’s too bad. After some shaving on my body and then some artistry with a magic marker, I was hooked up to an IV and rolled into the operating room.

The last thing I remember is noticing how really big the light was over the operating table. I was imagining how having a light that big over my garage workbench would make it so much easier to rebuild carburetors when the next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery room. It was like time travel, for real.

After I was awake for a while, the surgeon came in and told me everything had been a success. This was a routine outpatient procedure and it had gone as smoothly as she had promised. Then she asked me how I felt.

“Well,” I said, giving it some careful thought, “I feel like I’m here and my head is on the other side of the room.”

With that, I was admitted for an overnight stay after all. The thing is, this was the first time I have ever been sedated completely, and I just don’t do well on drugs.

I know some people take drugs to escape reality, but I have enough trouble with reality as it is and drugs only make it worse. When I say that, I’m not even kidding. It really felt like my head was no longer attached to my body, if you can believe that.

I looked forward very much to that overnight stay in the hospital. The food was bland but I was just happy to have anything.

The real problem came with trying to sleep. At first I couldn’t doze off, so I just did lap after lap around the recovery ward, trailing my IV like a pet on a leash.

When I finally did manage to go to sleep, a nurse would come in and tell me she needed to take my “vitals” — pulse, temperature, etc. Then I’d go back to sleep and two hours later the same thing. I was awakened at least three times during the night by nurses making these checks over and over.

How are you supposed to get any rest like this? I guess it’s their subtle way of making sure you don’t get too comfortable so you won’t want to extend your stay.

When I was finally ready to check out the next day, I was pushed in a wheelchair to the curb where my wife was waiting with the car. What’s funny about that is: Why bother with the wheelchair, since once you get out you're on your own, you know? I'd rather have practiced the long walk to the car just to get ready for the recovery, so to speak, but everyone gets the ceremonial wheelchair exit ride, it seems.

With my surgery, I was told to do absolutely nothing, nada, zip, for one whole week. You’d think that would be easy, but I'm not the kind of guy that likes to be waited on or to sit still for too long. I hated to have my family do some of the things I normally do around the house, but there was no way around it.

If you've had surgery, you know what I mean. You feel like a real bump on a log just sitting there all day. It’s terrible. I can’t imagine what pro athletes do when they’re laid up for months at a time.

My surgeon told me I’d have some pain in the first week after the surgery. OK, I guess that’s to be expected. Day one after the surgery was fine. I must have had some pain meds left in me.

Day two and day three were so bad I actually called her up to ask if she had left her scalpel inside of me. Yes, it was that bad. On the one-to-10 scale, where one is getting tickled with a feather and 10 is death, this was a solid seven, close to an eight. I mean I was almost in tears.

Apparently this is par for the course when recovering from surgery. Who knew? So, whenever someone is recovering from an operation, be sure to give them some slack. I would never, never have believed how painful the recovery was if I didn’t experience it firsthand.

In fact, my wife has unfortunately had to have several surgeries. Each time, when the procedure was completed, the doctor would come and find me in the waiting room, slap me on the back, and tell me how great she did. Had I known those times how painful the recovery would be, I would have taken much more time off from work to tend to her. Oh well, you live and you learn (if you're lucky).

With a whole week of nothing to do, you’d think that would be a great time to catch up on movies, TV, reading, and music. The thing is, when you don’t feel good, none of that is really appealing in the way it normally is. You try to get into something but you just can’t do it.

I remember, in the last years of my dear departed mother’s life, asking her to do all sorts of things. I’d get so frustrated when she’d more often than not say no. But she hadn’t felt good for a long time, and now I can fully understand her reluctance to do anything. When you don’t feel good, it's hard if not impossible to get excited about anything. Totally understandable.

After the week was over, I could start walking and lifting things again, but only very light things. I'm not a huge muscled guy, but so many of the things I normally do — rotating car tires, shoveling snow, general work around the house — actually require lifting quite a bit of weight. You don’t realize it until you can’t do it for a while. Heck, even a gallon of milk weighs seven pounds and that was too much. I felt totally useless during that week. Not good.

It’s been six weeks since my surgery and only now am I allowed to start exercising again. Even so, I was told to start slowly and work back into it gradually.

It’s really hard to do that of course, but when you get that wince of pain it kind of forces you to slow down whether you want to or not. I can’t wait until I’m totally pain free and get back to my prior lifestyle.

Like Joni Mitchell sings, “Don’t it always seem to go, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” Amen sister.

One time a friend told about getting injured playing volleyball. “I tore my rotator cuff. I have to keep my arm in a sling. I'm going to need surgery and miss the rest of the tournament. It’s terrible.”

My other friend then said, “It could have been worse.”

The first friend says, “How could it possibly be worse?”

The second one replies, “It could have happened to me.”

Surgery is no picnic. The next time your favorite ball player, friend, or relative goes under the knife, be aware that it’s just the beginning of a potentially long and painful recovery process.

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January 26, 2017

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by John R. Williams

Silver King tractors, like this one, are being restored by two Old Men of the Mountain.

Tuesday is here again and the Old Men of the Mountain met on Tuesday, Jan. 17, at the Home Front Café in Altamont.

The other restaurants the OFs visit are restaurants, but the Home Front is a restaurant with a theme.  The Home Front pays tribute to the men and women of the 1940s generation.

The Home Front is as well known for that theme as for its food. The theme suits many of the OFs because they are veterans. However, the talk Tuesday morning was not on anything veteran-related.  The OFs may be old but at least they are current.

The big argument of the day is what a lynx is, and what a bobcat is. Really!

In a good side shot, there should be no discussion. One OF brought in a clear picture on his cell phone of a bobcat in a backyard. It was a bobcat; it was large and apparently a male; however, one OF insisted it was a lynx.

A quick perusal on Google revealed the following: The most common wildcat in North America, the bobcat, is named for its short, bobbed tail. They are medium-sized cats and are slightly smaller but similar in appearance to their cousin, the lynx. Their coats vary in color from shades of beige to brown fur with spotted or lined markings in dark brown or black.

So, it was one against 30 and among the 30 were outdoorsmen, trappers (one professional), hunters and fishermen, and a few who have the cats visit them on occasion. But (like many of the OFs) once an OF’s mind is set, it is virtually cast in stone; hence the well-earned phrase “you blockhead”!

Anyway, it was just a big bobcat out for a stroll.  Or maybe it was his cousin.

Snowed under

Another OF brought in some photographs of the winter of 1957/58 on the Hill with snow banks twice as high as a vehicle and in many areas the plows could not get through and the snow was shoveled by hand to reach the road.

Helicopters were used to bring in supplies to stranded farmers, and they even brought in hay. But one OF muttered under his breath that this winter isn’t over yet; we still have to get through March.

Tractor talk

Two OFs who sat across from each other were discussing the Silver King tractor; both OFs have one, and these tractors are in different stages of restoration. Listening to the two yak back and forth was like a history lesson on the Silver King tractor.

The tractor was developed in the early 1900s to augment a company in Plymouth, Ohio that made locomotives and other equipment for moving clay to make bricks. The company (Plymouth Locomotives) had a serious decline in sales because of the Great Depression of 1929 to 1939.

They needed something cheap that people could afford, and they needed to keep their employees working. Aha! the Silver King tractor so named because the silver paint used on the locomotives was good stuff.

The original tractor was designed by the locomotive engineers and was big and cumbersome like a locomotive. This was not what the owners wanted. The company heard of a farmer that made his own tractor from various parts like the Model T and other parts he had laying around his farm.

The owners hired this farmer, and voilà, a small inexpensive tractor was born and painted silver with blue wheels. The tractors were intended for farms less than 60 acres and caught on well. But larger farms found they were a good utility tractor and purchased the tractor to save them from having to crank up the big, heavy ones to do Mickey Mouse chores.

Farmers once again came to the rescue and with forward thinking by the owners developed this type of tractor, which saved the company and the employees. The Silver King was made well into the late 1940s.

When did accidents become crashes?

The OFs were wondering when accidents became crashes. One OF said he hears a crash and he looks for some deliberate act.

The OFs said a crash is when someone goes out and drives headlong into a bridge abutment to kill himself — otherwise it is just an accident. No one goes out to deliberately have an accident, no matter how plastered they are.

More drunks make it home than don’t and the ones that do slam into a tree did not do it deliberately because they were drunk. This was an accident the drunk did not count on.

One OF added, “Yeah, if you are peeling potatoes and cut your hand, it is an accident, and, if you are drunk and cut your hand, it is still an accident because it was not planned. Now the same guy may always be drunk when he peels potatoes and he has been doing it that way for years, but one time he cut his hand.  This is an accident.”

Recalling the lure of Green Stamps

The OFs continued to muse about old times and talked about Green Stamps.  One OF mentioned he still has an unfilled book with Green Stamps.

Some of the OFs mentioned what they picked up at the redemption center. An OF said he still uses one of the items today that he purchased many years ago with Green Stamps.

Another OF wondered if the point system used by airlines, and certain stores and credit cards are a version of the old-fashioned Green Stamps. The OFs said there is so much rigmarole needed to redeem these points and what they offer is nothing the OFs want or can use.

These “points” don’t even come close to the ease of using Green Stamps, and at the redemption center there were many items that people needed and could use.

Elderberries in wine and pies

The OFs talked about eating, again, and this will not be the last time. This time, the chatter was about elderberries — making elderberry wine — and a couple of OFs have just begun making theirs.

One OF garnered 30 pounds of elderberries and the other OF picked 26 pounds and, if anyone knows elderberries, that is a lot of elderberries. One OF is going to combine some blueberries in his wine.

Then the OFs began talking about elderberry pie, and that led to mincemeat pies and how our mothers (now you know we are going back a ways) made their own mincemeat. The OFs know how to eat.

The OFs who made it to the Home Front Café in Altamont, but none ordered elderberr or mincemeat pie, were: John Rossmann, Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Miner Stevens, Ray Frank, Karl Remmers, Bob Snyder, Roger Shafer, Chuck Aelesio, Harold Guest, Roger Chapman, Robie Osterman, Marty Herzog, Ted Feurer, Rev. Jay Francis, Wayne Gaul, Mace Porter, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Bob Giebitz, Gerry Irwin, Mark Traver, Otis Lawyer, Ted Willsey, Jim Rissacher, Warren Willsey, Mike Willsey, Elwood Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and me.

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January 26, 2017

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by John R. Williams

On Jan. 10, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown, and this scribe does not have a clue as to what went on because this scribe was not there.

This will give the scribe a chance to expand on or use some of the notes from previous breakfast conversations. Some of what the OFs talk about is a very short, and generally quick, banter back and forth that may only be one or two sentences long and then a nippy retort.

Many of these are not newsworthy or fit for a paper but are very commonplace — locker-room talk of the senior-citizen type.

Last week, one of the topics not covered in the Enterprise report was water. On the Hill, many, if not most, of the wells have sulfur water. This is great stuff.

There are many kinds of water softeners that take care of the sulfur in the home if owner does not want it. Many on the Hill prefer it and, when going off the Hill and drinking the water in Delmar, or Guilderland or any community that has a water plant, the Hill people can smell the chlorine almost immediately.

Some of the OFs say it is almost like drinking Clorox. Some of the OFs who have softeners have a bypass line that goes to a faucet on the sink that takes the untreated water directly to that faucet. This water they use for drinking and cooking.

Some direct the sulfur water directly to a holding jug and let the water aerate. That is good water and spoils the OFs (and most people who drink it) from drinking other water. Thi is one of the many advantages of living on the Hill, but not all the wells are sulfur.  Some wells tap into a good stream of water before it travels through the limestone and that, too, is great water.

OFs ate health food down on the farm

The OFs, say they are OFs because well, duh, they are old and most of the OFs became old by eating the right stuff and the OFs did this naturally. The OFs keep getting reports on how people should be eating and, as the OFs look at these suggestions, many say: What is this stuff? The OFs say that they did not eat the good stuff all the time but, when they got off track, it was only occasionally.

When many of the OFs were growing up, their meals came from items grown in the garden, and butchered on the farm. One OF said, you can’t get any fresher than that, and it was chemical-free: Eggs, meat, and potatoes with veggies and fruit, although some OFs said their fruit came in the form of pies and jams.

A couple of the OFs said their fruit came in the form of wine. Home canning, and curing your own meat, was a food process more than one OF mentioned. “We used plain stuff like salt, or stuff you could pronounce,” said one.

Another OF said his family was poor, to which another OF quickly added, “We were all poor.” Anyway, this particular OF said he didn’t start to eat well until he went into the service.  

“We still eat the same way,” an OF said, “only we get it from the store, and we consume all the chemicals they use and don’t see any difference.”

However, another spoke up and said, “Most of us had a good start before the agriculturists started using all these growth hormones.”

Food and drink is essential

But is it interesting?

Looks like this scribe did not consider eating and drinking interesting because, for any of us to be here, we have to eat and drink. To this, this scribe says, it must be more interesting than he thinks because of all the cooking shows on TV and all the cookbooks in the bookstores.

The question becomes, as one OF put it, “Suppose we ate like they tell us to eat now. Would we be older OFs, and function better at 90 or 100, than we are now at 80 and 90?”

“Only time will tell,” another OF thought. “But who wants to be on this planet that long?”

This is the same OF who wanted to get off this planet awhile back.

Those OFs who made it to the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown and are still adding weight to this sphere were: Wayne Gaul, Ted Feurer, Gerry Irwin, Herb Bahrmann, Jack Norray, Mace Porter, Richard Frank, Chuck Aelesio, Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Robie Osterman, Pastor Jay Francis, Roger Shafer, John Rossmann, Harold Guest, Warren Willsey, Mike Willsey, Ted Willsey, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Otis Lawyer, Bob Fink, Bob Benninger, Jim Rissacher, Marty Herzog, Elwood Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen, and not me.

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January 19, 2017

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by Michael Seinberg

About two years ago, maybe a bit longer, I began to hear about the tiny-house movement. No, it’s not about living in the Barbie Dream House, but you’re closer to the truth than you think. The idea was that people, fed up with high mortgage payments, loads of possessions, and a high cost of living, would shed their huge houses for a tiny alternative, many of which they built themselves.

There were articles; websites; and then, after a time, TV shows about building, buying, and living in tiny houses. Now, keep in mind that most people define a tiny house as having 400 to 500 square feet of living space.

In 1978, the average American home was 1,780 square feet and, in 2013, it was 2,662 square feet, despite the shrinking of the average size of the American family. One other detail to keep in your mind: The last state room my wife and I had on a cruise ship was under 200 square feet and that included a full bathroom, queen bed, and an ocean view.

Many of the hallmarks of tiny houses are almost nautical, in that, like the accommodations on boats, every square inch of space is used in as efficient a manner as possible. Storage is found in every nook and cranny, large appliances are avoided, and many accommodations are made that most of us would find tough to live with (folding furniture, loft sleeping, one room).

And the folks in these shows and documentaries all say the same things: They want lower costs; simpler lives; fewer possessions; and a focus on experience and living life, as opposed to working non-stop to afford stuff.

You might peg these folks as crunchy-granola, left-wing, hippie folks who love kale and run vegan restaurants on the side, and, in some cases, that might be true. But mostly they just want lower bills and fewer things cluttering their lives.

I have no problem with those goals and, in light of our current economy and world situation, they seem quite sane. But, alas, the forces of capitalism have invaded and kind of hijacked the tiny-house movement.

Now a tiny house can be bought just like a regular house complete with custom finishes, multiple sizes, all sorts of gizmos and at a price that is no longer any great bargain. Many early tiny-house people were able to build or have built a livable structure under $20,000, but now you can easily spend triple that.

I even saw one model that opened at the touch of a button like the pop-out on a big travel trailer. This is not your mother’s tiny house.

Some of the shows follow people who have their houses built by “tiny house experts” but, from what I saw, the experts were just greedy carpenters who had glommed onto a new market. One guy was quoting prices so high I swear he was salivating on camera.

Now, the thing is that, while a new house for many people can cost anywhere from $275,000 to $750,000 depending on size and locale, one could look at a tiny house at $60,000 as a bargain. Well, I don’t see the bargain when one features a single tiny bathroom, many times with a composting toilet and maybe a total of 400 square feet of living space and the other features many bathrooms and 2,000 to 5,000 square feet of living space.

Some people have suggested the tiny-house people are too extreme and most Americans could never downsize that much. That might be so, but what I think we really need is a small-house movement.

What if you could buy or build a 750- to 1,000-square-foot house that featured good-quality materials, energy-saving features, and decent-quality workmanship for maybe $75,000 to $150,000 depending on size and locale?

I’m talking about a house like our parents and grandparents would have lived in. I’m talking about kitchens that don’t feature granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Bathrooms that have sinks that look like sinks and not modern art. And houses that are built in clusters or on large lots for the sake of green space and privacy (pick your preference).

Tiny houses will never be the norm in this country but they certainly point in a positive direction. Now, if we could just get things out of the hands of the money-grubbing marketers and greedy developers and into the hands of people interested in serving the people as well as the planet, we might have something.

Editor’s note: Michael Seinberg notes that he and his family live in half of an 1880s-era house in the village of Altamont. They rent out the other half to a tenant. There are no granite countertops in either apartment.

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January 19, 2017

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by John R. Williams

Well, on the first breakfast of the New Year (and, by the way, Happy New Year from the OMOTM), the OFs’ good weather for driving to the restaurants ran out. The drive on Jan. 3 was not fun.

There was drizzle at the freezing point and thick, heavy fog and it was a dark day, but this did not hold many OFs from getting out and enjoying the camaraderie of all the other OFs. The OFs discussed the weather in Duanesburg because Tuesday morning the OMOTM were at the Duanesburg Diner in that village. Duanesburg has a weather system all its own and it generally has nothing to do with the rest of us.

Tuesday morning, this scribe had copious notes because the subjects were varied and all over the place — they covered New Year’s Eve, Mariah Carey, trapping, aquariums, zoos, self-driving cars, clever crooks, sulfur water, guarantees, computer spying, the nonword “overspread,” warts, spots, wrinkles, babies, mice and ticks, the flu, and a few others. This scribe can only pick a few of these to expand on.

Learning to trap

Quite a schooling was given on the art of trapping. It does take time to learn and it is done by going as an apprentice with an experienced trapper. Book larnin’ tain’t gonna cut it.

The critter of choice for this lesson from the trapper was the fisher. The fisher is a nasty animal and will eat just about anything: squirrels, mice, rabbits, birds, cats, skunks, and even the parents of the aforementioned animals, and also their young, and their eggs, according to the OF outdoorsman and trapper. This is a ferocious little animal.

The OF said that, during this trapping season, with the few traps he set out, he managed to trap two fishers. The OF said he does not use leg traps.

Something fishy

We found out in many of our conversations that the OFs have been to places that most of the other OFs have been to. This time it was aquariums.

The aquariums the OFs talked about were the ones in Mystic, Connecticut, in Boston, in Bush Gardens, and in Myrtle Beach. The one that is now open in the old Rotterdam mall was what brought this up.

The kid of one of the OFs was going to take his kids and some friends of theirs to the aquarium at the mall in Rotterdam on the school winter break, but when he checked the cost that was soon scratched off the list.

Legal questions on self-driving cars

The OFs were wondering who would be at fault and who would the lawyers sue if two self-driving vehicles collided with each other. Would they have to sue the company, or the people who owned the cars?

The people who owned them were not driving them so how could they be responsible? How about the guidance system that was directing them? Supposing they were both using the same guidance system, what then?

How would the police fill out the accident report? What kind of answer would they get to, “May I see your license and registration please?”

The OFs think the questions that could come up might be endless.

“What fun,” as one OF put it.

Crazy crimes

The OFs talked about clever crooks, and the crooks that stole the diamonds with 7,000 police officers a couple of blocks away.

One might admit they had one heck of a decoy with the revelry of one of the largest New Year’s Eve parties in full swing. These crooks could have even used jackhammers and no one would have noticed.

One OF thought all of the officers were looking in one direction, trying to spot any sort of trouble so the people partying would be safe; however, none must have looked behind them. One OF added that two blocks away in New York is quite a distance so, even if the police officers looked back, they probably would not have seen anything.

The one crime that was not made by a stupid crook, but rather stupid people who were transporting a tremendous amount of gold.  There was so much gold that this one individual saw just sitting in a bucket in the back of an unattended truck — again New York City.

He picked it up and walked off with it. Who the heck was at fault on that deal one OF wondered.

Then there was the local guy that went after an automated teller machine with a big hammer that was not big enough. The guy went home and came back with a sledge hammer and started beating on the ATM machine but it did not break.

This shows one thing. These machines are well built!

If anyone is going to steal one of these things they should take lessons from the crooks that used a forklift and placed the ATM on a truck and hauled it away. It might be a good idea if the manufacturers of these machines installed a GPS tracking device in the machines along with the cameras.

Warranties

Some time ago, the OFs discussed manufacturers’ errors, and this time the discussion was on warranties. Many of the OFs have had appliances, tools, outdoor equipment, and other items that are used in and around the home and these items fail within the warrantee period.

Depending on the supplier, and what the product is, sometimes the OGs try and fix the problem, but sometimes the suppliers just say, “Take another one.” And, when asked what to do with the one that doesn’t work, often these suppliers say, “Keep it.”

This is because the dealer doesn’t want to mess with it and neither does the manufacturer. Now the OF who bought it is stuck with it and has to take it to the dump — er, transfer station.

However, some of the OFs who have kept various and sundry of these pieces of failed whatever have used them for spare parts, made planters out of them, and in some cases cobbled them up and made them serviceable again.

The OFs have come to the conclusion that, over the years, we have really become a throwaway society.

Those OFs who made it to the Duanesburg Diner in Duanesburg (and the OFs are original production runs and not castaways) were: Bill Lichliter, Roger Chapman, Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Chuck Aelesio, Ray Frank, Harold Guest, John Rossmann, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Otis Lawyer, Lou Schenck, Mace Porter, Gerry Irwin, Herb Bahrmann, Bob Fink, Bob Benninger, Ted Willsey, Jim Rissacher, Mike Willsey, Marty Herzog, and me.

 

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January 12, 2017

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by Judith Rothstein

We’ve just come off at least two months of gift-buying and gift-giving. Special days with deep discounts vied for our dollars: Black Friday; Cyber Monday; Small Business Saturday; and, new this year, Choose Women Wednesday. Among these days was Giving Tuesday — the first Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

At this time, a message went out from the Community Caregivers office which said, in part, “As the holiday season swings into full gear, it’s good to know you can support a local organization that faithfully serves community needs year round. We serve our neighbors throughout the year who need rides, shopping assistance, friendly visits, caregiver support and more to live  independently at home.” And what we’re most proud of, “Since 2010 over 300 of our volunteers have provided 19,000 services to more than 500 individuals. That’s a lot of caring.”

I’d like to suggest that we all have lots of “Giving Tuesdays.” That we make giving a year-round activity.  The same joy you get in giving gifts occurs when you give money to not-for-profits.

Dr. Oz said in the December issue of Oprah Magazine, “Donating to an individual or a group can make you feel great.” He goes on to say that research shows givers are happier than people who just spend on themselves. And, in fact, the brain’s reward processing center lights up when people give.

Let me suggest some reasons to give:

— In honor of an anniversary or birthday;

— For a favor someone did for you;

— For a service someone did for you and wouldn’t accept payment;

— To say thank you; and

— Just because I want to do something great today.

I know there are lots of other reasons to support Community Caregivers. Be inventive.

In this day of widespread internet use, there are also sites that donate a percentage of what you pay. PayPal matched 1 percent of any donation through the PayPal Giving Fund offer. Year round, for Amazon shoppers, there’s a link that donates to a charity of your choice.

Of course we hope you choose Community Caregivers. Select Smile.amazon.com from your web browser on your computer or mobile device. On your first visit to Smile, you need to select a charitable organization — “Community Caregivers” — before you begin shopping. Amazon will remember your selection. Then, order as normal. Part of the purchase price — half of 1 percent — goes to the charity. And that doesn’t cost you anything.

We’ve been helping neighbors faithfully year-round since 1996. One way you can insure we continue our services is to make a donation with your checkbook or online. You can also go to our website, which will give you instructions on how to make a donation: www.communitycaregivers.org.  

Not all can become volunteers to help people. Probably all can make a donation that helps insure we stay in business.

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January 12, 2017

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by John R. Williams

On Tuesday, Dec. 27, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Your Way Café in Schoharie. This was a sad meeting because the OMOTM were advised of the death of Loretta Kennedy.

Loretta was the proprietor of Mrs. K’s Country Kitchen in Middleburgh and a good friend of many of the OMOTM. Some of the OMOTM sat next to Loretta in many of her classes when she was at Schoharie Central. She was in the same class as this scribe and graduated with him in 1952.

As reported last week, the OMOTM were at Mrs. K’s for their annual Christmas party and Loretta was taking orders and conversing with all the OMOTM and doing all this while supporting herself with a cane. The OMOTM’s thoughts and prayers go out to Patti and her family at this time of sorrow.

The sorrow is for all of us but not for Loretta. God already has put her to work waiting on all the OMOTM who have gone on before (and that is a big group) on a cloud held especially for the OMOTM and their heavenly breakfast.

Lowlifes

This scribe does not know how much of the news becomes information for the OFs because so many of the OFs claim they don’t watch the news (and some do not even get a newspaper) but again many OFs were upset about the lowlifes who steal Christmas presents particularly those intended for the needy. What kind of person would do this?

The OFs wonder what kind of rock they crawled out from. One OF suggested it isn’t a rock; that is too good a home for them. It must be they oozed from some festering cesspool to pull stunts like that.

Many of the OFs don’t understand why anyone takes something that belongs to someone else in the first place. What happens to them when, or if, they get caught was a rhetorical question. Nothing, was the basic reply.  At least the OFs never hear of them getting caught.

Logman

In the Your Way Café was a neat snowman made out of pieces of logs. The bottom of the one in the window was about 12 inches in diameter; the middle was about 9 inches and the head was about four-fifths of an inch. All the pieces were about 2 inches thick, and of course the hat was wood as was the nose and extremities. It had a scarf, too.

The OFs thought it would be possible to make a whole family of these for the front yard; they thought it looked like a fun, easy project that the whole family could get into.

“But,” as one OF said, “only if you have a chainsaw.”

Unwelcome vines

Maybe the OFs have mentioned this before but they think they have a use for kudzu. Now all we need is a good use for wild grape vines other than making wreaths.

The OFs talked about what a nuisance this stuff is. The more the OFs cut it back, the more it grows. The OFs wonder if it does any damage to the trees that it weaves its wicked vine around.

The plant crawls along the ground and starts new shoots that search for trees to climb. It is difficult to control especially along hedgerows and fences where it gets a start. If only grape vines that grows grapes for harvests were as hardy and productive.

Car complexities

The OFs drifted into one of their generic topics — cars.  This time, the talk was on how complicated they are becoming.

There seem to be more dashboard lights, buttons, and switches than ever before.

The touch screens are like computers with no “oops” button in case the OF inadvertently touches the wrong part of the screen or the screen time is not long enough for the OF to interpret what it is and what to do with it. By the time the OF decides that is what he wants, it changes to something else just as the OF is ready to push it.

The OFs still maintain all they need are a few simple toggle switches: one for lights with the dimmer on the floor, and a two-position toggle for the wipers — one for slow, one for fast. A horn ring without the horn button hidden someplace in the center of the wheel because now, when the OF pushes where the OF thinks the horn located, nothing happens. A simple key to start and lock the car.

The wipers would have simple double-toggles: one for the heater and one for the air, with a simple knob to turn that indicates warmer and cooler. The radio would be on/off with a volume knob, and a tuner knob.

The OFs think that should do it. And to boot whatever happened to the small triangle windows on the front windows that could be pushed out to scoop air in as you drove?  Those little air-scoop windows worked better than air-conditioning.

Now in some of these vehicles the OFs need a master’s degree in computer science just to turn the dumb thing on. Careful, one OF suggested, you have just admitted the car is smarter than you are.

The OFs who made it to the Your Way Café in Schoharie in their new fancy cars with all the gadgets and managed just fine, regardless of their grumbling, were: Ted Willsey, Warren Willsey, Mike Willsey, (with his daughter Amy who brought some information that might bear watching about an outbreak of flu in cats in New York City. So far there is only one suspected case of it being transmitted to humans. Something else for the OFs to worry about), Chuck Aleseio, Ray Frank, Miner Stevens, Bill Lichliter, Roger Shafer, George Washburn, Robie Osterman, Roger Chapman, Mark Traver, Glenn Patterson, Harold Guest, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Mace Porter, Gerry Irwin, Wayne Gaul, Ted Feruer, Don Wood, Bob Benninger, Bob Fink, Rev. Jay Francis, Gerry Chartier, Russ Pokorny, Elwood Vanderbilt, Richard Vanderbilt, Marty Herzog, Jim Rissacher, Harold Grippen, and me.

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by Frank L. Palmeri

One of the most common icebreakers at a party is to ask a person what he does for a living. As I inch closer and closer to retirement, I find myself reflecting on work more and more. Our occupations and career choices so define us.

I mean, I could retire right now, but I'm just not ready to answer the “What do you do for a living?” question with the words, “I'm retired.” At least not just yet.

I started working at age 14, delivering the Long Island Press in my Brooklyn neighborhood on my bicycle after school. The thought that someone would pay me to do anything was mind blowing at the time.

It really did make quite an impression, as I've been working non-stop ever since then except for a two-week vacation once a year and a day or two off now and then. That's 43 years working and still going strong.

My next job was working in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant that was located next to a big hospital. I was to keep hospital visitors from parking in the restaurant's parking lot. Let me tell you, I took my life into my own hands with that job. Fortunately, the restaurant changed owners and I got to work inside after that. That's probably why I'm still alive today.

The restaurant was Nathans, of Coney Island hotdog-eating-contest fame, and every now and then I’d put on a giant hotdog shaped “Mr. Frankie Man” costume and stand outside waving at passing cars and people.

The costume was huge, heavy, and hot as hell inside. The eye holes were in the middle of the hot dog, which had to rise at least four feet over my head. It was very disorienting in there, to say the least. When I wore it, I'd get cursed at, spit on, and even little kids would try to knock me over just for the fun of it. Still, it was part of the job and I was just glad to be getting paid to do anything.

I would advise any teenager to take a minimum wage job for a year or two. The lessons you will learn about hard work, showing up on time, and dealing with the public are priceless.

I know there's a movement now to make fast-food jobs have a living wage. No matter, I would advise working there and moving onward and upward if possible, but since fast food is so prevalent in our society maybe it could be considered a career for some (especially if you move up into management). All I know is I was glad to get out of that business so I could stop coming home smelling like grease.

Then I got a job with a big savings bank, first as a teller, then as a traveling branch auditor, and finally moving into EDP (Electronic Data Processing) Auditing. I had computer training in high school that was somewhat rare at the time, which is how I was able to get promoted. I still use those skills every day. Auditing bank processing on a mainframe IBM computer would prove to be great work experience.

The bank liked me so much it decided to pay for my continuing education, so I would work all day in midtown and then go downtown to Pace University two or three nights a week until I got my bachelor’s degree. Surprisingly, once I got my degree, the bank refused to give me an actual IT (Information Technology) job.

The bank argued that, if it hired me in IT, I'd get a year of experience and then leave. So I had no choice but to leave right then. Very strange — the bank got virtually no return on its substantial education investment in me — but it is what it is.

Around this time, I was also working part-time with a guy doing hardwood floor sanding and cleaning. He liked me for two reasons: 1) I showed up and 2) I worked. He claimed that, believe it or not, finding someone who could do these two things consistently was extremely difficult.

I left that job because I was already working full-time and going to school, but I often wonder what would have happened if he and I had continued to build that business up. Who knows, maybe I would have been retired and moved on to something else a long time ago.

From the savings bank, I wound up working for a very large commercial bank in the Wall Street area of Manhattan. By that time, I had passed the test for entry-level computer programmer with New York State. I could have taken the job in the World Trade Center or in Albany.

Since the pay was nowhere near enough to get an apartment in the city, I decided to move to Albany, get a year’s experience, and then go back to the city for the big bucks.

When I told one of my female co-workers at the commercial bank that I was leaving for a job in Albany, she said, “It's so boring up there, you'll be back here in six months, guaranteed.”

What actually happened was I rented an apartment in Rotterdam, got engaged to the landlady not long after, and I've been here ever since. How about that? And no, I don't have to pay rent anymore.

I often think about what would have happened if I'd taken the job in the World Trade Center and just lived at home until I got enough raises to move out on my own. Many of my co-workers died there on that awful day, Sept. 11, 2001. Very sobering to think of that.

What a stupid and senseless way for so many totally innocent people to die. I could have easily been one of them.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about work from working first for myself, then in the private sector, and now in the public sector:

— If you are supposed to show up on time, then show up on time. I'm so big on this that I show up extra early just to make sure I'm there on time;

— If you are going to do something, then do it as best you can, not just because you are getting paid but because it reflects on you;

— Be especially thankful that someone finds you desirable enough that he or she willing to pay you good money for your services. Never take this for granted. There are plenty of folks with fancy framed degrees from very good schools who can’t find work;

— Don't be bummed out when Monday morning comes around and you have to get up and go to work. Be thankful that you have a job to go to;

— Realize that organizations are made of people, and people have all different personalities, likes and dislikes, good days and bad days, etc. There is always stress when people are involved (that’s why I love working with computers so much). You can only control what you can control. Don’t let it get to you; and

— No matter what job you have, the only constant is change, so make sure to keep learning as much as you can. It's the only way to stay relevant.

During the election, you heard the word “jobs” so often you probably got as sick of it as I did. I mean, just look around you. Jobs are all over. There are endless driveways to seal, decks to be built, houses to be painted, cars to be washed, lawns to be mowed, etc.

If you want to work, you can find work. It may not be the work you really want, but we don’t all get to be supermodels or 787 pilots or CEOs, but you have to start somewhere.

You are so lucky that you live in a country where you really can start from nothing and rise as far as your perseverance can take you. Work hard, work often, and things will look up eventually. That’s why, no matter what anyone says, there is no need to make America great again. It always has been great and will continue to be great as long as we keep working hard and innovating.

Remember the landlady that I wound up marrying? When I first met her, she was a single mother with not one but five, count ‘em, five, jobs. Everyone thinks I married her because she’s beautiful, intelligent, and the most caring person in the world, but her work ethic impressed me to no end 30 years ago and she's still going strong (although she’s now down to “just” three jobs).

When they coined the phrase “Protestant work ethic,” I’m pretty sure they had her in mind. I love to read and I always feel guilty sitting in my comfy chair enjoying a book at the end of a long day while she’s still flitting around the house doing a dozen things (but I do it anyway).

We naturally think of getting paid to work but don’t underestimate the power and satisfaction of volunteer work. Go into any church or club and look at what the volunteers are doing; it'll blow you away.

I've edited several club newsletters over the years, and I always got a rush when my copy came in the mail. Even though I put it together on the computer, seeing the physical copy it in my mailbox always gave me a thrill.

There's nothing like volunteering, if you haven't done it, you should try it. Really. I'm certain you'll get much more out of it than you put into it like I always do. I only wish I had time to volunteer more. Maybe when I finally do retire.

Work defines us in so many ways. When to end a working career and move on to the next phase is an important decision we all must make at some point. If I look tired when you see me next it’s because I've been up late thinking about it.

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by Dennis Sullivan

— Screen capture from Woody Allen’s “Broadway Danny Rose”

And there on Seventh Avenue in front of the Carnegie Deli, on Thanksgiving Day, was the incarnation of love.

The democratic republic of the United States that has existed for nearly two-and-a-half centuries is on hiatus. It was on hiatus during the first Civil War and it is back on hiatus now that we’re in the midst of a second civil war.

The Pulitzer Prize recipient and Princeton Historian James McPherson said the first Civil War “started because of uncompromising differences between the free and slave states over the power of the national government to prohibit slavery in territories that has not yet become states.”

The current civil war also started because of uncompromising differences but now it’s between the one-percenters (and their surrogates) and the rest of us over the power of the collective, the “we the people,” to provide for the needs of all as the planet and its sentient beings struggle to rise above conditions of enforced scarcity.

The new conflict has brought to the fore questions which the philosopher movie-maker Woody Allen raised in his two great tragi-comedies, “Crimes and Misdemeanors” and “Broadway Danny Rose”: Is there a moral structure to the universe? Is there some accountability for people who make evil choices and commit evil deeds?

In “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” an ophthalmologist, Dr. Judah Rosenthal, is consumed with guilt because he put a contract out on his flight-attendant paramour who threatened to tell his safe-from-the-ways-of-the-world wife that a pillar of the community had been cheating on her.

After the murder, the doctor goes close to having a mental breakdown. He visits his childhood home to see if he might get in touch with the values he grew up with and they might become a source of stability. In the old house — which the new owner has allowed him to walk through at his leisure — he hallucinates that all his relatives are sitting around the dining room table at a Seder.

He projects a question into their midst about the nature of culpability, and in response nearly every adult at the table offers an opposing view on justice. One of his aunts laughs at the idea that someone who has committed an evil deed will be brought to justice; she says people get away with murder.

That is the view of many people about how the one-percenters manage the world to suit their profit indices rather than to devise and implement strategies to meet the needs of all, health care and otherwise. Thus, for millions, that minority is the source of pain and suffering. And one wonders, if significant dissent arises in contradiction, will they be made to go away like the stewardess?

Standing in the way of any resolution to adopt a position on justice that takes into account the needs of all are the uncompromising differences alluded to. Soldiers on each side of the battle line cannot even agree on the physics of reality, on what sits before the eyes, that a can of beans is a can of beans, so they continue to lambaste each other with condemnatory stigmatizing rhetoric about their respective blindnesses.

Some people I talk to about these things are so engrossed in a knee-jerk meta-reality with no basis in the material world, that they’ve insulated themselves not only from the pain and suffering of others but also from their own need for an existence without cynicism.

In Allen’s “Broadway Danny Rose,” a theatrical agent, Danny Rose, manages a cadre of acts who others define as “losers” among whom are a one-leggèd tap dancer and a stuttering ventriloquist.

Rose is a personalist. He gives himself over to his clients without reserve; he is devoted to them in every way. When he resurrects the career of a has-been singer who winds up with a big hit song, that winner calls Danny Rose a “loser” and ditches him for a high-power publicity agent.

The singer’s girlfriend, Tina, sees the basic goodness in Rose and feels there might be something in him worth pursuing. But she ultimately calls him a loser and ditches him too. His personalism goes unrewarded.

But Rose is able to transcend because he is armed with ethical maxims he learned in childhood. Like a mantra he repeats what his uncle Sidney told him for getting along in life: “acceptance, forgiveness, love.” When things go awry, you accept the other, you forgive the other, you begin to love the other. However, for devoting himself to the lives of others unconditionally, Rose is called by the one-percent a fool.

Today in the United States, where religious views of acceptance and forgiveness have been jettisoned like infernal debris, people talk past each other as if an-other did not exist. Therefore a new measure of justice has to be created that will mollify the factions.  

It resides in the question: To what extent and in what way have you relieved the pain and suffering of someone today? Did you meet people at the level of their wounds and bandages and make things better for them? Did you challenge the political economic institutions that keep people locked in poverty and distress though an ethic of enforced scarcity?

Last week, I mentioned to an older woman at the Y that Pope Francis had celebrated his 80th birthday by asking eight homeless people to breakfast. I related that he chatted with each person individually while sharing Argentinian cakes with them before saying Mass. Besotted in cynicism, the woman implied the Pope did this as a publicity stunt.

I asked her if she thought the Pope was stunting last Holy Thursday when he met with men and women prisoners at Rome’s Rebibbia prison and washed their feet like Jesus had done on the Thursday before his death.

I asked her if she had ever visited someone in prison who had no family or who had been totally rejected by society. Did she believe in acceptance-forgiveness-love? I must admit there was a great pause of silence.

In “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” the killer ophthalmologist finally pushes through his homicidal guilt, he is never caught, he goes on living his one-percent life with his one-percent wife. His aunt was correct, people do get away with murder.

There is an intermittent voiceover throughout the film; a philosopher, Doctor Levy, offers a vision of a way out of internecine conflict. He says, “We define ourselves by the choices we have made. Human happiness does not seem to have been included in the design of creation at all, it’s only we, with our capacity to love, that give meaning to the universe.”

It is actually an optimist, democratic, republican solution to conflict in that it invites all to participate in creating human happiness. But sadly, things got too tough for Doctor Levy and he took his life amid the insensitivity.

But in a epilogic postscript to the film, Levy reminds folks that “most human beings seem to have the ability to keep trying, and even to find joy from simple things like their family, their work, and from the hope that future generations might understand more.”

But will future generations understand anything unless the collective “we the people” becomes personalists, like Danny Rose, and dedicate ourselves to meeting the needs of the planet and all its sentient beings?

And when the woman, who called Rose a loser and derided him, fell on hard times and knocked on his door one Thanksgiving afternoon while the loser was feeding all his loser acts in his apartment (with TV dinners), all he could hear was Uncle Sidney: acceptance, forgiveness, and love.

He failed at first, he could not say the words, she left forlorn. But after a moment’s deliberation he ran after her. And there on Seventh Avenue in front of the Carnegie Deli, on Thanksgiving Day, was the incarnation of love.

 

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