Handicap Hierachy

   Five dollars and a total knee replacement have allowed me to have a red, temporary handicap parking pass.  Handicap parking spaces are usually filled when I arrive. Occasionally, illegally.  I wish I had the nerve to slap a 'mentally handicapped' sticker on their windshield. Lacking the courage to do so,  I leave it up to karma, what goes around comes around.
   This weekend I found an empty handicap spot in front of Trader Joe's.  When I got out, I looked at the car in the next handicap spot.  There was a woman in the driver seat.  I didn't see a pass hanging from the mirror.  As I passed the front of the car I expected to see a handicap license plate.  There wasn't one.  I kept walking. The woman in the car rolled down the window and actually yelled at me.  I stopped and turned.  She shook her fist and said, "I have it right here" waving a blue handicap pass.  I said, "Fine.  No problem."  But the woman was truly indignant and continued railing at me.  Backing away, I said, "Really, it's okay."  This served to further infuriate her.
  Her last salvo:  "Besides, you are just a temporary cripple!"

Mistaken Identity

   Two weeks ago, in the cavernous hall of surgical registration at Inova Fairfax hospital, I sat with several dozen people waiting to be called.  It was six am.  No one seemed happy to be there.  When "Richsmargle" was announced, I waited to see if there was such a person.  As no one else seemed game, I went up to the desk.  A pleasant man with dreadlocks and a French accent asked if  I was "Richsmargle".  I said I was Cynthia Richmond.  He nodded, checked the photo ID on the computer and handed me the all-important wristband with the bar code which would be swiped by everyone from food services to blood drawing technicians. Routinely, he asked me to check the birth date and spelling of my name.  I looked.  "My" name was spelled Khalid Houmani.

Five years years ago, in the same hospital I was asked my name and birth date every single time a hospital employee entered my room.  It was quite tiresome.  The Monday to Friday staff was ever-vigilant.  Weekend staff was more lax,  which I appreciated.  Until the day I was walking the halls for exercise and one of my assigned nurses said, "Hello, Mrs. Miller."

   Technology in a hospital is a good thing, as long as you check the fine print..

Menemsha Blues (and Oranges)

             "Menemsha Blues (and Oranges)"
                    © 2013

Last summer, Susan Makara and I saw this  fishing boat, the "Unicorn" in Menemsha Harbor.  She claims she got the better photo, and she probably did.  But I love the one I chose to paint.  Yesterday, the "Unicorn"  nearly sunk, while docked because of a cracked valve.   Volunteers bailed gallons of icy water and secured the valve. 

Here's hoping for smooth sailing in 2014

                                         "Trio" copyright 2013

I was wrong

I was wrong.  Christmas was not a Booth cartoon.  It was more of a Quentin Tarantino movie.  Violence, blood, excrement, carnage, hysteria and a lot of bad thoughts about otherwise good dogs....

My Christmas in a Booth Cartoon

   Family occasions often remind me of one of my favorite cartoonists, George Booth.  Such mayhem.  Christmas 2013 will be rife with Booth.  For the past 22 years, we've had dinner with our neighbors.  The kids grew up together, (well, they got drunk together...) and dinner at the Bartletts is de rigueur.  This year I agreed to watch my brother's two dogs (a bull dog and a large chocolate lab) for that week.  My son leaves his two (pitbull and loon)dogs Christmas Eve through Christmas dinner.  And my daughter will be bringing her rescue pitbull.
    48 hours fraught with hilarity, to be sure.  But here's the rub.  The hostess needs back surgery.  She is not allowed to bend over, much less host 14 people for dinner.
    Last time we had it at our house, it didn't go so well.  So much so that no one suggested having it here again.  I'm sure it will be far better this time.  What could be more festive than five quarrelsome dogs circling the roast beast?

Able to Leap Tall Buildings in a Single Bound

Sibley, who I thought was the 'good' dog, has freaky leaping skills.  From a dead standstill, she can levitate up and over our fence.  Usually she performs this act in pursuit of a dog, a deer, a squirrel or maybe a passing butterfly.  She also tends to shred the hand that feeds her.  All in good fun.

 One of the many reasons that I enjoy dogs, is that unlike certain nameless children, dogs don't complain.  They don't whine, "I'm bored."  I had a black lab who was able to amuse herself.  When she couldn't find someone to throw the ball, she'd drop it at the top of the driveway and run to the bottom to retrieve it.  Dogs would walk by and she would barely look at them, much less chase them.  Once, when I was recovering from back surgery she joined me on the bed.  I smelled necrotic flesh and discovered she had a large gash on her leg.  Never said a word about it, just soldiered on.  I asked my husband about it and he said, "Oh yeah, she ran a little slower this week."
    Sam, my son's other dog, is a nudge.  If he's not barking or baying, he's grumbling.  I want to tell him to go read a book.
    On the other hand, both Sibley and Sam are excellent cuddlers.  My black lab was more of a, "oh, if you must pet me, go ahead."
    My son returns tonight, God willing.