Current Mood: SADD

That's me, on the right. 

 

It's the first couple days of Fall, the earth is now headed in the direction of the Winter Soltice in eighty-seven or so days and Cookie is having his annual onset of Seasonal Affective Disease Disorder or SADD for short. 

My version of SADD tends to begin in the waning days of August, picking up speed just in time to crash into November, the most dreaded month of months for Cookie.  Yes, I know that fall clothes are supposed to be the funniest, sweaters (jumpers) and all - including the scourge of our lifetimes, Pumpkin Spice - but to Cookie, fall will always mean the onset of the "grey" - that filmy cloud that descends over my senses and makes me feel horribly alone, blots out lasting happiness, and ennui strikes to my very marrow. 

It's not my first time in this rodeo. No, this has been going on since childhood.  1995 was the worst.  That was the year that I was being set up at work by a lousy boss who had me believing I was the problem.  That was the year that I almost drove my car off the road at a high rate of speed to end it all, and that was the year that a medical professional listened for once and gave me a diagnosis that made sense. 

There are many of us with this affliction.  But it strikes at different times of the low sun months, and at different levels of intensity.   As I said, my worst month is November.  Then I start climbing out of it.  By the Solstice, things are looking up.  My MLK Day, I know I can get through it, and by Ground Hog Day, brother it is s spring in my book because that is the season I love the most.  I have a family member who does fine until January and then drops into the abyss, only to reemerge in April.  A friend goes over the edge in October and then struggles until March.  It's different for everyone. 

Still, it's not a disability for me, like it can be for many.  I just become very bear-like. So I am more fortunate for most. 

Anyway, if I post Hood's poem, "November" you will know that I'm not in a good place.  I will summon up the will to be happy in a few days.  After all, November IS the month for dressing balls and other home-cooked delights.   So there are some good things to look towards!

You only need to be alarmed if I post a picture of me eating the turkey-shaped candle so traditional with Americans of my age.  

The trouble with a friend of friend, a friend of your cousin...

 

In this book, Hardy Boys examine it very closely.  "Sniff them, Frank," said Joe.

Is it me or is Nicki Minaj just fishing for attention?

My mother would play a similar game.  In it, whenever I did something she disapproved of.  So while she never compared anyone's balls, she invented a "friend" who was saying the awful things she was thinking. 

So, when I grew my goatee in the 1980s, it became "My friend saw you in Columbus and said she saw you and wondered why he would ruin his looks with the facial hair."

Mrs. Passive, meet Ms. Agressive. 

But back to Nicki.  

You know that your a bull shit artist when you tell a whopper about an unnamed friend of a cousin Nicki.  And your music sucks, too. 

Now, Cookie is going to sit back and ponder balls...

The one where you can't schedule an appointment

 

So Cookie had a wee fall a couple weeks ago.  It really was my fault.  I was coming down our main staircase, I was pondering where, if anywhere, I could find membership records for the United Commercial Travellers organization from the 1890s, my gaze fixed through the front door at the dog playdate happening on our front yard and thought I was going to step off the stairs, and...

...the next thing you know I am "ass over kettle" falling towards the floor.  

I landed on my feet, and then legs.  The bottoms of my feet didn't touch the floor.  No, the top of one foot smacked the floor, the other foot touched with my toes curled under, followed by the crash of my left knee.   The nose was terrific and my husband came running in from the kitchen. 

Nothing was broken, thankfully.  A lifetime of being a milk drinker paid off.  But unbeknownst to either of us, the nail on my big toe must have drive into the flesh around it resulting in what became an infection near the edge of the toe.  So I went to my doctor over the weekend when Mr. Toe looked angry, and the doctor put me on antibiotics and then sent a referral over to the recommended podiatric medical practice.  

That was Saturday.  I made three calls to the practice, no one answered.  On the third call, after forty-five minutes on hold, I left a message with a callback number and explained the problem in the message.  

I was not surprised when the crickets of the evening, instead of the call, emerged. 

So "lather, rinse and repeat" I started anew today.  

On the third call, someone answered.   

"Are you an old patient, a current patient, ar a new patient?" she asked. 

"New.  Dr. Hemoglobin should have sent over a referral on Saturday," says I.

"I don't have that."

"Perhaps someone else has it," I asked.

"No. I get those but I was out yesterday," says she.

"Then perhaps someone else has it," I asked.

This went round and round before she asked me why I needed to see a doctor.

"Injury to a toe, infection along the nail line."

"Are you in pain." It wasn't so much a question as it was a perfunctory statement. 

YES!

"The soonest I can get you in is the first week of November at our Havre D' Grace office," she stated. 

I pointed out that if I wait that long, I could have lost my toe if the antibiotic alone doesn't fix it, hence the reason for needing to see the doctor sooner.

"I can do Columbia the third week of October 18th at 8:00am," she pronounced.

What about something that isn't an hour in down and back in rush hour traffic. 

She got me to Carney, then Eastpoint, but I stood my ground.  There is an office not 20 minutes away. 

"Fine. I can get you in tomorrow morning."

I took the appointment. I am grateful that she got me in. 

But why is it so damn hard to get an appointment?  I know, understaffed, overworked, blah, blah, blah. I know I should feel blessed that she finally went looking for something, but somehow I feel as if I was belssed*.

But there is something else - this sense that an urgent matter can wait.  If I were someone who treats a podiatrist like a chiropodist, well then fine, my toenails could wait a week or two.  But when someone states that they have seen an MD, they have a referral, they have an infection and are on antibiotics, a light should have gone off somewhere that this person has something that won't wait six weeks.

So tomorrow, most likely said the doctor will look and say "you have an injury to your toe..." or they'll be sticking needles in my foot and cutting away to get the puss sack out. 

I will survive, mostly intact.  But the scheduler won't be getting a thank you card for not doing her job.

*When someone finally comes through after wasting your time.  

Deep thoughts, #37 A Better Way

 At some point in your future, you may encounter a situation that has no accepted solution.  It's the clever person who thinks in creative ways, as long as you remain on topic. It's the shrewd thinker who can sell an idea to someone who can make it come true.  Above all, do be open to new ideas. 

No, really, you can't go here again.

 

Horseshoe Lake,1909. The wee house in the distance was built in 1908-09.

Let me take that back.  You can go here, but aside from the house in the distance, it's now, in the eyes of the government agency responsible for its upkeep, officially gone.

One of the draws to the land once owned by the Shaker sect east of Cleveland in the early 1900s was the series of man-made lakes created by members of the sect to drive their gristmills.  They dammed up Doan Creek and flooded the lower lands and created these magnificent lakes.  When the land was bought up, the City Cleveland got the lower lake and on, Horseshoe Lake.  Taking the lakes, the city promised to maintain the damns and care for the lakes, forever. 

Horseshoe Lake was first threatened by Cuyahoga County Engineer Albert Porter - a sociopath, without a single redeemable quality.  In addition to being an A-1 creep, Porter hated the heights area up on the plain to the east and south of University Circle.  Porter felt that they were too stuck up to accept a low life like himself, so he plotted to destroy Shaker Heights and Cleveland Heights by running freeways through the area.  Had porter had his way, there would be a giant cloverleaf interchange where this lake was. 

Shaker housewife fought him back and the old creep (Porter was a bully within the Democratic party, he bilked his own employees for kickbacks on his wages, AND was accused of sexual harassment back in the 1960s) and Horseshoe Lake had a fifty+ year reprieve. 

The end of the lake started two years ago started when it was drained by the sewer commission that oversees Cleveland's sewers and drainage, including creeks, streams, rivers, and other bodies of water.  It was only a "temporary" drain to fix the ancient dam created by the Shakers almost 200 years ago.  But the damn was never "fixed" - studies they said - and the lake bed, once twenty feet deep was never cleared out of the sediment muck.  Residents in the large old homes - that paid good money for the view and their taxes started demanding answers. 

They came this year.  Evidently, the Northeast Ohio Regional Sewer District board or commission in charge of the money, has decided that removal of the dam will take place and the stream bed naturalized.  "You'll love it - it's so much better for the community!"

Never mind there is a legal agreement that says that they have to maintain the lakes.  

Never mind that there is no funding to support a wetland with native species and with removing the invasive species.  

Never mind the generations that enjoyed walk around the lake.  

Never mind the Van Deusen Nature Center built on land that made Horseshoe Lake look like a vague horseshoe. 

Like the carnies they are, they claimed "but we're going to maintain the Lower Lake and dam."  Between the lines, it read more like "we love Shaker and Clevland Heights, and we're only robbing you of one lake,"  the greedy little piggies around the table claimed. 

The cost of removing 20+ feet of muck and replacing the damn to return the lake to a LAKE will run upwards of $36m, and they won't pay that.  So instead, they are willing to pay $28 to remove the damn, naturalize the area, claiming flood benefits.  The upkeep would fall to Shaker.  The downside to this is, of course, Cleveland remains in control of land that they have failed to maintain.   

There is more here at Cleveland dot com, and Shaker and Cleveland Heights both could rehab the lake on its own.  But what happens when Cleveland pulls the plug on the lower lake or some other shenanigans in the future.  You know where there is vacant land, there is someone, somewhere who wants to develop it. 

The other question is what is it going to go to the values of the residences whose laws overlooked the lake.  Yes, I know they have plenty of money, but the real estate was worth more because of the houses, the huge lots, and the lake view.  Are the people in those properties going to see a reduction in their taxes, which are extraordinarily high, even by Shaker standards? 

What Albert Porter couldn't achieve with the Clark Freeway is being done by the sewer board.  

It's all a sham, as well as a shame.