Reader Dear,

you're soon going to be having a fit of your own about all these posts where I mention my little episode.  Nevertheless, here we go:

When I returned from the hospital after the seizure and was bemoaning the fact that I was no longer allowed to drive, my kids chorused, "Mom, just use Uber!"

But then the HM took me away on vacation for two weeks.
And I had lots of kind folks offering rides.
And I hitched rides with the HM a lot.
 I even tried walking (I traveled to the mailbox very often without a car).
As well, I had a great excuse for  just staying home and blogging*.
Reader Dear, I was dragging my feet (if there's a pun, it's intended).

However, I am pleased to announce that this very morning (cue the drum roll) I called for an Uber ride.  (It was in order to get to an appointment at the health center, so I couldn't just shrug my shoulders and decide to stay home [HM had other commitments, so he couldn't be my chauffeur])

Therefore, as I said, I called for a ride.

Milton would be showing up, Uber informed me.

"This is my first-ever Uber ride!" I gleefully told Milton when I climbed into his car.

As it developed, we had a pleasant ride together to the health center.
When I exited the car, I asked.  "May I take your picture?"

Then I added, "I'm not saying I can make you famous, but I'll do my best!"

Ladies and Gentlemen:
I'm pleased to present Milton.  Moved here from NYC to be near family.  Has driven for Uber for four months.  Is a very friendly, likeable guy.  Driver par excellence.*

*Please Please spread the word, Reader Dear.
(If you do your best,  I'll have done mine!)
*******************

Coming home,
David was my driver.
We had a good ride, too.
And I asked for his photo.
But, you see, with David I couldn't offer fame; he's already famous**
**And it's a good thing, as this photographer did such a lousy job with obtaining his pic.
**How wide-spread the fame, I'm not sure.  For myself, at least, I'm well-acquainted with one of his many brothers!






 












*******************
*Oh, you've noticed, Reader Dear?!

After the fit that I had

back about eight weeks ago, PennDOT* sent me a letter:

Basically (but in a much wordier way) it proclaimed the "Notice of Recall of your Driving Privilege" (capitol letters, theirs; as though it is a distinguished title of some sort) the same thing about which the doctor in the hospital had warned me.
 
This sentence in Penn DOT's letter informed me:
"If you do not return all current driver's license products, this matter will be referred to the Pennsylvania State Police for prosecution under Section 1571 (a) (4) of the Pennsylvania Vehicle Code. "

Well, Reader Dear, I did not wish to have the state police showing up at my door with a pair of handcuffs, so, I made steps to deliver the (now considered precious) Driver's License to the Penn DOT center.
A friend dropped me off at 1:15 on a Friday.  I was planning to summon the HM to pick me up when finished...in, perhaps an hour?

Reader Dear, I walked in the door and gasped.  There were at least sixty or perhaps seventy persons seated and milling around in the big, open room.  I looked for the check-in desk and there was a line, which I joined.

When it was my turn to get a paper slip with a number, I asked the young man approximately how long I'd have to wait.

"Well," he responded.  "It's a long wait.  We're short-staffed today.  It will be at least two hours.  Maybe two-and-a-half.  Maybe more.  But here is your number.  You will be called in the order that you came in the door!"

"Ahh.  A long wait, for sure!" I exclaimed.  "But, you're saying that I will be called in order?  Someone coming later won't be called before me?"

"That's right," he assured me (He gave me other instructions and information, as well; I won't bore you with it right now, Reader Dear).
************

I found myself a seat (nothing comfortable to be found, all of them hard and plastic, but thank goodness for chairs!)  For a while, I watched and waited.  I used the Ladies Room (an only-one-person affair [for this massive crowd?] and somewhat dingy and dirty [but, thank goodness for a Ladies Room!])

I waited some more, half-heartedly read a magazine I'd carried along in my anticipation of a one-hour wait.

Then I had a sudden inspiration:  Since I don't get out much these days, why not peruse the shops around the PennDOT center.  The building is in a long strip, out of the area I'm used to shopping.  I could at least stroll around and see what was out there?
I went back to the check-in desk. 
"Sure," said the guy.  "Just check back about every 20 minutes or so.  You've still got more than a two-hour wait at the very least."

"REALLY?" I asked. "But an awful lot of people have come in after me.  Are you sure you're going according to the numbers?"

"Yes, yes," he answered.  "And the letters."

"Wait, what?" Reader Dear, it was time for a little interrogation.

"You've got a 'C' number.  That means every time they call a 'C' number, it will be closer to your spot."

"Now, wait a minute," I told him.  "You told me that absolutely I'd be taken in the order that I walked in the door."
"Yes, yes.  You will be!" were his final words. (Don't get nervous.  I'm only talking about his final words in that one conversation, Dear Reader!)

*******
Let's skip ahead about a half-hour (or two).  The guy at the desk had allowed as how I could leave the building and have a little look-around outside.  Fortunately, though the weather was cold, it was not too bitter.  I walked out onto the sidewalk and spotted a Goodwill Store immediately next door to the PennDot center.  Eureka! I thought.  I can easily spend time  here, away from the madding crowd, yet handily close to it.





As soon as I walked in the door of the Goodwill Store, I spotted an interesting array of vintage model cars (two shelves worth!)  Wow.  I chatted with the sales person, and she verified my assumption that someone must have donated a life-time collection.


It was a tempting display!  I had to preach myself a little sermon:

"They are taking away your license due to a seizure.  Don't let them make any excuses to extend the restriction because of  Complete Insanity!  In other words, NO BUYING OF CARS!"  (Perhaps, Reader Dear, I was just pining for the use of a car, any car!)

I spent a long time looking at the cars.
"Don't rush," I said to myself as my sermon veered off in a new direction.  "You want to spend at least an hour here!"

Reader Dear, fortunately, it was a nice big Goodwill Store.  I tried on a few pieces of clothing.  I looked through books.  I shopped the housewares section and the toys.

I did not take his picture (and rue it now), but struck up a friendship with Leon (an adorable, curly-haired five-year-old in the toy section, happily playing with a toy golf bag and clubs).

"Would you like to have that toy? (I had noticed him playing with it for a very long time)"  
He nodded, and I told him,  "I'm going to get it for you.  We need to find your mama first.  Where's your mama?" 

His eyes lit up and he ran to find her.
Dear Reader, jumping over lots of other small details (as this story is getting quite as lengthy as my PennDOT wait), when Leon thanked me bilingually ("What do you tell the lady?" his mama had prompted him) it was the highlight of my day! Gracias.  Thank you!

*******
But, time keeps passing.
Reader Dear, I'm sick of waiting!
I'm sick of returning to the check-in guy at the PennDot desk.
I'm sick of hearing "Still a long wait."
I'm sick (I must admit) of entailing the details for you, Reader Dear!

*******
When I had returned to the still-overflowing crowd in the PennDOT center for the final time at 3:45 ( I had asked the check-in guy once again about the wait and got the same respons [still a long wait]),
 I had asked the woman seated next to me:
"How long have you been waiting?"
"About an hour,"  she had replied.

**********
It was about four-fifteen when they called her number (do the math, I beg you, Reader Dear [lies and corruption at the PennDOT center!  They were clearly not taking the numbers in order!])

**********
"I'm liable to be here another two hours!" I thought to myself.
My blood pressure was rising (I just knew it).
"I'm liable to have another fit (of one kind or another)!"

*********
One of the windows where (what do I call them, customers?) were being addressed, was directly in front of me.   The man behind the counter was temporarily free.  I rushed to the counter.
"I'M AN OLD WOMAN!" I declared. (What, did I assume that was not evident?! No time for sermons to myself, however).  I rushed on,  
"All I've got to do is turn in my license because of a seizure.  I've been waiting for three hours!  I did not eat any lunch!  (Was there a reason I threw in that fact? But, I'd had no time for speech-planning, as I noted, Reader Dear)   
"I was told we would be taken in the order that we walked in the door!  That is not true!!"

The poor man tried to refute my charge.  But I pointed out my evidence, and he had to admit it.  All the "C" numbers would be called in order.  But the "C" numbers are randomly called.  Along with every other group of numbers--randomly called!  They are only called in order according to your letter!
I threw a little fit.

He very grudgingly huffed, "You got your license?"
I handed it over.
He gave me papers to sign.
"You want an ID card?"
"I was told by the check-in guy that by law I have to have one."
"You don't," he said.
"Well, I think I want one," I said.
"Wanna use your old photo?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.  "If it's quicker."
"Yep," he said, and disappeared for a few minutes.
"Here you go," he said when he came back.
"Sign these  additional papers," he said.
Six minutes later I was leaving the center with my ID card in hand.

*************
Sigh.  End of story!
Except for this:      

Same photo.  IDENTIFICATION CARD

NOT FOR REAL ID PURPOSES














*Pennsylvania Department of Transportation

***********
THE END!
FOR REAL!
 

So We Came Back

to the cold, snowy north.   And winter keeps reminding me that it still has a chilly handle on things up here!

The blizzard snow is nearly gone when we return, but two weeks later there is a new wave of winter weather.
********


The beautiful part is that the  blue sky and sunshine make the white stuff and the shiny stuff seem like a brief decorative addition that will soon be very outdated!
*********

And Another

Brother!

That would be Elder Brother of Mine, the one whom HM and I were planning to visit in a final stop en route north (now in an also-easterly sort of way) as we return home from our trip to the warm sunny south.

We get to Elder Brother's house late in the evening and he offers us a bed. It's the one that Monkey (see photo; she's feline) has been keeping warm for us.

What are the odds we have any in common,
Viewer Dear?

This home, too,  shows signs of extensive creativity.  For you see, Reader Dear, this brother, too, is a maker of many works of art.  He's also a grower of figs.  And a genealogist (Note the seven-generation pie chart showing ancestors who were all striving toward his creation and mine!) He's a gardening, tree-growing, marble-and-other-material-manipulating genius.



On our full day with this brother, HM and I enjoy a lunch out with him and his dear wife.

Then we take a drive through the surrounding mountains.  We trot around on the sweet spot where there once was a cabin built by the man whom Elder Brother and I called Daddy, and a great-uncle we addressed as Uncle Joe (though I can attest to the fact that the title of "great" would have suited him well).

It's been long years now since that cabin was burnt to the ground (Alas, arson).  The parcel of land was divided into two.  A grandson of Uncle Joe is now constructing a new house on one portion of the land. 

We tromped around the mountain, checked out the new house (nearing completion). We noted the remnants of a rudimentary residence left there by HM's and my Only Son and his friends a score of years ago (Hippie days on the mountain when it was already a score of years post-Hippie-era).

We noted the damages of an ice storm.  We discussed some form of shelter we could manage to erect or haul in for brief overnight stays on our half of the mountain land.  We reminisced.

I picked up an historic rock, destined to be carted along home with me to my house and to sit somewhere (inside or outside) and whisper to me often, "I'm a native of Afton Mountain; you know the place!"

On our trip through the mountains, our small party also stopped in the tiny town of Batesville, Virginia.

There is a fine country store there, Reader Dear, which you must not miss the next time you are traveling through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.  It is a delightful and historic little spot, Batesville.  Blink your eyes, however, and you'll miss it!

Batesville, Perhaps in its Heyday

Okay, well, in the interest of getting the HM and I home at last, I'll rapidly say just this:

We spent another night at the home of EB.  Next day, I took this view of the morning mountains from the bathroom window



HM and I said goodbye, goodbye to Elder Brother and Sweetie Pie (see photo, he's canine).


Elder Brother helped to load into our car a table we were taking along.*

I hugged him goodbye.
"Thank you, thank you," I said. " You're in the top two on my list of Favorite Brothers in All the World!"



And then, the HM and I, we drove home.
Yes, indeed, Reader Dear, we found snow on the ground.

*************************
*Yes, yes.  EB constructed that fantastic marble top.**


** Reminiscent of the puzzles our
paternal grandfather used to construct
(wooden, with formica-topped pieces)

One of Grandpa's Puzzles

**************************************************************************

Oh, Brother!

Brass and Wood "Thing II Adjustable Flower Holder"

The HM and I, still in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, bid a fond farewell to our friends and set out for the home of my younger brother and his wife.  Now, just a reminder, Reader Dear, that I've got two brothers: one older, one younger. 

I like to phone this younger brother.
(Thing I and Thing II are our names [assigned by Thing II; approved by Thing I; originated by Dr. Suess])

"Back when I was your age*" I say to Thing II, "I used to think about emailing you.  But, as I got a little older, I decided phoning you is better."  

Six minutes goes by pretty fast, Reader Dear.  This time when I called him, it was to tell Thing II  that back when I was his age, I was setting out to see him in person!

Canvas and Leather "Thing II Briefcase"

Wood and Leather "Thing II Safari Chairs"

HM and I had a lovely visit with my dear twin and his dear wife.  We went to lunch at a restaurant that used to be a favorite of our beloved departed parents when they used to visit this area.  Back at the home of Thing II and his wife, we got to see all the latest handcrafts.  You see, Reader Dear, this twin brother of mine is a multi-talented maker of chairs, and wooden boxes, and wooden-ware of all sorts, not to mention briefcases, and clothing, and, well, most anything sewn or constructed in any manner of most any material!

Wooden Dove-tailed "Thing II Tea Box"

I could stock a museum, Viewer Dear, with the items this twin of mine has constructed for me. He's, naturally, produced many works of art for others, as well.  I'm just one of the lucky ones who only needs to say, "I'd really like for you to make...(fill in my latest request)..." And he does.

These are just teasers, Viewer Dear.
If you're interested in purchasing any of these one-of-a-kind items handcrafted by Thing II, you'll have to take a number and stand in line.
Otherwise, you know,
(if you're ever so lucky)
Thing I may
be able to
pull strings
for you.
*********

"Goodbye!" I said to Thing II, before we drove away with handicrafts that hadn't been in the car before we arrived.
"Thank you, thank you!" I said.
"You're in the top two, you know, on my list of Favorite Brothers in All the World!"

*********


Viewer Dear:
This is a Box (you never know, perhaps one of the very ones constructed by Thing II !**)
**In full disclosure, Reader Dear, Thing II may be able to construct anything under the sun; however, there is no guarantee that either Thing I or Thing II (regardless of any other abilities) is able to make your house right again when it's topsy-turvy.

Relatively Speaking

Reader Dear, I find it relatively interesting how the HM and I began our trip south, and similarly ended it, by visiting relatives.

In the whole wide world, I've only got two brothers.  Of all the places in the wide world where they could be living, they both happen to live in the same state of the United ones.  In fact, they both live near the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.   In fact, how fortunate are the HM and I to get to visit such a beautiful area!

But, after we've driven through another day of rain (still heading north), HM and I arrive at the beautiful mountains of Virginia, and before we go in the direction of either brother, our first stop is to see friends--ones who "stick close as brother and/or sister"  Our close and enduring friendship with these two has led us from state to state and house to house.  Now, however, I feel we've all hit the jackpot--the friends get themselves the house (best of all their houses [I believe][ built it themselves, in the middle of a woods];  the prize for HM and I, we get to stay here whenever we visit!)

 And talk about being treated like royalty! (Okay, I know I wasn't talking about any such thing, but I've decided to bring up the topic because it's so apropos.  Just look:

HM and I get to (S and P)'s house just in time for supper.  (S) is putting together the meal even as she and (P) are welcoming us into their home.

 After more than a week of restaurant food, HM and I have eyes that are dancing at the sight of real, honest-to-goodness, home-cooked nourishment!  Can you believe it, Viewer Dear, (S) is preparing to bake bread!  (Yes, yes, you are understanding it correctly.  She has mixed up actual dough to put in the [I'm not going to say "actual" again, Reader Dear, because, in fact, most all ovens are "actual" ones] oven. But I will say that she is going to serve us loaves of actual, home-made bread, fresh from the oven)!

Into the oven she also slides chicken, potatoes, vegetables. There's a whole homemade meal, every morsel of which (without a doubt, there's dessert, too*) is delectable!

*Our hostess, I exclaim, again and again, makes this whole hostessing thing (bread-baking, meal prep, meal service, conversing while keeping wits about her)  look like a piece of cake!

 

*******

Now, we've eaten, and there is a cozy fire burning in the wood stove.  It's when our hostess pulls out the brightly-colored jigsaw puzzle, which hours later (after [as bosom friends are prone to do] we've solved all the problems of the world and some of our personal ones, too,  and/or at least we have discussed an admirable number of  things, laughed  lots,  eaten snacks, examined issues and reflected on golden memories)

looks like this:

To be honest, the puzzle completion did not occur until the following day.  It was following breakfast,* a visit to the center of the city (Harrisonburg is a relatively small city, but a city nonetheless [it has its limits]).  We visited two churches, one in order to attend a service, and one to view the spot where our multi-talented hostess (S) teaches English-as-a-Second Language. We visited an arts-and-crafts shop.  We had a buffet meal of India-style food at a restaurant.  We had a tour of the countryside (outside the limits of the city).

                                                                    

We returned to the home in the woods,
where our good host spent hours stoking a fire and boiling down sap to make maple syrup (freshly-made maple syrup for the breakfast waffles!) and our non-stop hostess prepared an evening meal of not one soup, but two (Borscht [roasted beets] being one of them!)     

Washing Dishes

***************

*It was an elaborate breakfast,
our dear hostess attempted to pass off as "simple"

By the following day, the puzzle was complete.

The friendship will carry on forever,

but HM and I had to say goodbye for now.

(As well as "Oh, thank you,

Que queridos amigos!)

It was time to head in the direction of 

my younger brother, my dear womb-mate.

(Reader dear, I am relatively near the

end of this tale of traveling south and 

north again)

.To be continued...

relatively soon!

...........

Lemonita!

Reader Dear, it's what I named my little lemon tree as soon as I had her ensconced in a plastic bag and safely in the car.

The HM and I were heading speedily north.  (Alas, homeward bound, though we still had a few more stops)

It was early on in our trip up the country, but we needed to get gas, and we'd noticed that the spots where we could fill up the tank were few and far between.  The needle on the gauge was asking "How low do you think I can go?!" 

I was just ready to sigh, and say, "I guess you're going to have to SHOW US"
when we came to this little place ...uh...
FCC 60, 462544 State Route 200, Yulee, Florida.

After purchasing gas, the HM was running around buying armloads of fresh oranges and grapefruit from the bins out in front of the store (And, oh,  Orange you glad I did?! that HM could have asked me.  That fruit was over-the-moon!)

But, back to my Lemonita. I watched HM buying fruit and thought, Why buy eggs when you can buy the chicken?! Then I went ahead and translated that into a metaphor for buying a fruit tree.

Lesley*, when I begged her for advice, helped me to find the most healthy-looking lemon tree.  She wrote down the elixir  that she feeds her own lemon tree twice a year:

I jotted her other instructions:
--Inside if below 50
--Prune
--Do NOT over-water
--Re-pot when root-bound


My Lemonita is bringing me such pleasure, now that I am back in the north country again.   I sing to her every day:


 "Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet!"  

I do NOT sing any other lyrics of that song to her**
I do NOT over-water her.

I hope that Lemonita is  still rewarding me well when she is 50, and I can take her outside.



**(The fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat?!  [What nonsense!]).  
*********** 

Soon after leaving Yulee, the sky clouded up and it began to rain.  For the remainder of the day, we drove through about a bathtub's worth of rain per minute (You'll just have to take my word for this, Dear Reader.  It's an estimate [obviously, as bathtub sizes vary]).
*************
*She had a nametag.

I was So Wired up That Night!

(Reader Dear, in case you were sleeping through the prior post, I'm referring to the night of the sleep study at the sleep lab) One would not suppose that it would be easy to sleep in such a wired-up state.   However, after a few hours of TV watching,  I decided to give it a try.  I reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, miscalculating my reach just enough to send the TV remote crashing to the floor.

It put me into a quandary:  Should one call out for the attendant, just because one doesn't  know how far one can lean down to retrieve the remote in one's wired-up state?
Should one stretch as far as possible with the risk of crashing to the floor oneself?
Or, hmmm, should one just sit on the edge of the bed and pick up the remote with one's feet (even if one has to make several attempts at this) ?

Well, Dear Reader, you've followed one's thought processes all the way to the retrieval of the remote!  I turned off the TV, turned off the lamp, turned off all thoughts of further wakefulness, and gradually took leave of my senses.

Though I awoke several times throughout the night, tentatively and painstakingly rearranging myself on the bed (from left side to right side and back again),  it was a relatively restful night; but, short!  It came to an abrupt end when Diane entered the room with a cheery "Good morning!" at six a.m

"We let you sleep late!"* she announced.

*Dear Reader, I tried to tell myself that "late" is a relative term.  I imagined a groom at the altar, waiting a whole half-hour for his bride to appear.   Or someone waiting thirty minutes to eat one's goose, after it's been cooked.**
**"They let me sleep really late," I said to myself.

Diane removed all the wires.
"You can take your time getting dressed," she told me.  "We (the night staff) leave at six-thirty, but a morning person comes in, and he can let you out the door."
  Just like coming in the building the evening before,  it gave me a strange feeling to make my way through deserted halls.  I sat in the empty lobby for a while, waiting on the HM to collect me.  Upon his arrival,  I walked out into the open air, and the sun was just kissing the horizon.

The parking lot was almost empty.  The morning was lovely and clear.  The air was brisk.
"Wow!" I marveled.  "Wow, if it weren't so early in the morning, I could really enjoy this time of day!"
..............