Are You A descendent Of Richard And Rebecca Maxson?

I'm told I am, and therefore my descendants as well.  I was sent an ancestry chart that listed my name. Unfortunately it had several errors in my data, including the supposition that I married my father-in-law. No, I married his son, and we named one of our sons after my then husband with a "Junior" attached.

For me, that brings into question a whole lot of other details in the chart. Let's just start with, first, I'm pretty easy to find. You're reading about me right now. My life is pretty well recorded. But nobody ever asked me a few simple important questions, or a chance to make corrections in the "facts" listed. I tried to contact the source of the list I was sent, never heard back, no clue if corrections were made, and assume nobody actually cares.

Why should anybody care? I mean aside from the idiocy of reactions to where I appended Rosa as my last name after my first marriage and kicked off the former middle one, keeping the "Maxson". That is causing problems, but only recently. It was never a problem before since no fraud was intended. I just joined a long time-honored history of similar behaviors.  I grew up with family stories on my father's side that went way back to before America was founded, some to William Wallace's time causing various relocations and name changes, all of which may be apocryphal. Somebody give me a reliable time machine and modern healthcare to take along, and I'll let you know. Just don't forget the healthcare!

My father was named after the first in our known line to be born this side of the Atlantic. His father arrived in Massachusetts as an indentured servant in the very early 1600s with a seven year obligation of work to fulfill. He was essentially owned by the Puritans who held his contract. Once those seven years were paid, he was kicked out of that community, not for any crime other than being - Horrors! - a Baptist. So those honored first arrivals came here for religious freedom... only for themselves. Somehow it tarnishes their noble quest for freedom, doesn't it? We got ours, now you have to join us or scram!

Humans!!!

Of course it has become a time-honored tradition in this country, where groups tribalize to "I've got my sacred freedoms, now you go scram and find your own if you can earn them but we get to decide that for you!" Our national history is a long tale of "US" versus "THEM", with, of course, every "US" being unquestionably superior... in all things.

That ancestor scrammed all the way to the island of Rhode Island. Every time that tale was told "Island" was strongly emphasized. Make no mistake, it was only and exactly that island. The ancestor married, they had a son who held the distinction of being the very first white child born on that island,  and who was named John Maxson. (Don't leave off the "s".) My father was named after him, but with a middle name added, from elsewhere in the family, of "Dufty". He hated it, since he grew up teased by other kids who turned it into bathroom humor. When he was drafted into the army in WWII to serve in Europe, he hated his middle name so much he was willing to swear, even risking perjury, his middle name was a single initial only, a "D". He was buried with that initial in Fort Snelling Cemetery, showing he never got in any trouble with the military for it. He chose to be named with a single middle initial only for the rest of his life. His mother, Jane Elizabeth (Price) Maxson, spilled the beans to me. She was proud of the family name and wasn't going to diminish it to a mere initial. 

Of course, she in turn hated the "Jane" and was always known as Elizabeth. I only knew about "Jane" when I read a copy of her autobiography after she'd died which she wrote as a young adult. At one time I held paper copies of it in my hands. I have no idea where those papers got to. Luckily, I took photos of each page and store them in my photo library, right next to all the photo pages from one of Dad's sisters proving her eligibility to be a member of the DAR. As her niece, I could join, as could my daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter. If they ever wanted to of course.

When I needed to get a copy of my first marriage license from St. Paul to help prove my identity after moving back to Minnesota, having all my documentation still locked up in a PODS sitting in Arizona, they got my dad's middle initial wrong! I was too annoyed by all the documentation hassle at that point to even notice it for a few days, much less consider trying to point it out to them and get it corrected. I needed my driver's license and all the other duplicate ID crap to get on with life back in this state. I'd qualified for all that Real ID stuff when we moved to Arizona years before with the same kinds of documentation, but MN insists AZ didn't do it "right enough". It wasn't a problem with my documentation, just that it came from Arizona. Start over!

I'm pretty sure in the distant future if/when people are trying to trace me in the genealogy - particularly since I married into a (partly) Mormon family with at least one member who relishes keeping all those records - I'll be a mystery and/or source of confusion. I'm already sure it's a problem because I can't get everything all together enough to qualify for Minnesota's version of Real ID. I have an ordinary ID. I can't get a passport without hiring an attorney. I can't get on a plane without either a passport or a Real ID, either way requiring hiring an attorney and jumping through expensive hoops. 

Good thing I can still pretty much drive wherever I really want to go. My shoulder surgeon approves on behalf of both arms now.

As a result I can't put too much blame on whoever has been keeping the family tree from way back for allowing stupid errors to creep in. I've been assured all the claims of descendance from Charlemagne are hogwash, for example. Even his many bastards were thoroughly documented, along with theirs, and theirs.... I've forgotten some of the errors specific to me, but the idea of my marrying my father-in-law was just so repulsive I've never forgotten it. (Incest!!! ICK!!!) I bet if anybody was keeping up they'd miss my divorce (in Georgia) and second marriage (in Arizona) as well. But it's still me, and I'm still a piece of that lineage, where ancestors got scalped, and all sorts of other human things happened... and some were gotten wrong in the telling or writing. 

But if you're keeping those records these days, and are interested in fixing one teensy part of them by the person who lived it, go ahead and reach out. The state of Minnesota  can find me if you can't. So can the FBI, though I haven't given them a reason for years now, except to be cleared for carrying a hidden gun or as responsible for paying rent. I'm still around. And mildly annoyed.

In addition, I'm chuckling a bit at the absurdity of it all. It's fun to think you know this long line of people who resulted in you, hearing their alleged stories making them more than just names and probable dates on paper somewhere. Someday I'll be just a name and probable dates on paper - or a file of electrons - or some new technology - where even the people who knew and loved me weren't keeping track of those kinds of details, just the bits that impacted their lives at whatever level. That will be my legacy, for whoever cares. I know somewhere way back in history there is a string of humans (or near humans), themselves preceded by strings of cells put together from molecules made from patterns of protons, neutrons, and electrons, preceded by.... who knows? Just like everything else. Various zigs and zags resulted in me. I've continued the chain by producing descendants, and my atoms or ashes will enter other chains which may or may not ever become parts of humans ever again. I might be billions of years as part of some layer of rock. Talk about immortality!

Right now people still exist who try to keep track of those chains. But as long as they still find it important, why not do their best to get it right?

If You Could Just Mix Tech With Clothing this Way....

 I caught a flash of a commercial this morning - no clue what it was for, of course, aside from the usual "buy something" - that looked totally weird. I know I didn't actually see what I thought I saw, and it wasn't at all whatever the commercial was about, but trying to figure out what I had seen got me thinking.

What I thought I was was somebody wearing a shirt where a hole went through it - and them - showing what was behind them  and changing as the person moved. You know, like a window through the person. Since the person was apparently alive and unhurt, there was obviously no window/hole through their torso. But oh, what an illusion/delusion!

I bet somebody could put the current tech we have together and make a shirt that would create that effect. You'd need matching coverage, front and back, pick a shape: circle, rectangle, oval, irregular with edges shaped like a cannonball or shotgun blast had gone through. 

The back of the shirt would need  some kind of camera(s) catching the shape lined up facing back as if there really were a hole there, with wiring under the shirt coming around the body or over the shoulders to display on whatever the "hole" screen shape was. They'd have to match in real time as well as angles of course, so as the person turned the view would instantly match, just as if you were actually seeing through a hole in their torso. If somebody walked behind them you'd see that part of them pass as if through a window.

In its simplest it would just be a weird party trick. Think something like a window frame with a view matching the person's movements. But think of what one could do with it for Halloween! One would need a border that appeared to be the dimensional sides of the hole - all with apparent edges gory with blood, bones, organs as if you were seeing through the person... who was still apparently alive, not noticing they must have died.

Or were they undead?

I'll be waiting to hear somebody managed to make it work. No fees will be asked, though I'd love to see it in use.  

Anybody?

Missing Colbert

I'd been following his late night show for years. As a young adult, late night for me was Johnny Carson, with me thinking it was hilarious when he transitioned from directions to take the Slauson cutoff to a warning not to cut off your Slauson. Well, maybe only mildly amusing the 23rd time. There followed a lot of years of long working hours/weeks and sleep deprivation, where no late night TV was viewed. When life finally allowed my return, I watched Letterman for a bit, and then, Colbert filled his shoes. More than filled them, in my opinion. 

I had started to notice different political leanings among hosts, and like a lot of people, decided the liberal viewpoint suited me more. One explanation I heard years ago seemed to fit: it was the difference between punching up and punching down. I never found it funny to pick on the little guy. Back when I was a kid and hadn't the words or knowledge to understand why, I hated three Stooges, but even more than them hated Laurel and Hardy. Bullies simply aren't funny. Period.

When Colbert had his gig on The Daily Show where he portrayed the wackjob right wing extremists, I quit watching The Daily Show.  Of course it was a put-on, but who needed that? The only funny part was the number of people who didn't get the joke. Just not my idea for how to spend my time. There were a whole lot of good books out there waiting to be read. And I was starting to get good politics both on MPR while driving around the state, and when closer  to the metro, from Al Franken and Stephanie Miller. (You gotta have a  strong radio signal, and unlike FM public radio with branches all over the state of MN,  AM stations that weren't right wing crazy were limited to dense populations.) On MPR I could hear things like an analysis of what the latest Supreme Court ruling meant, or flip to classical music for some relaxing while I was driving. 

Then several things happened. I retired, moved to Arizona, stopped listing to their public radio classics (because who really needs to hear Scheherazade 4 times a day just because that year it was in their top 100?) Anyway, I wasn't driving more than a mile most days so why bother with the radio?  Stephanie Miller went to Free Speech TV where I could watch as well as listen, and unlike these days, it was included in our TV package at the base price. These days that just isn't in the budget, and sitting for three hours in front of the TV is reserved for some good PBS weekend programs, recorded, and thus watched with interruptions nullified by "pause".

Once Colbert came on CBS, he was recorded automatically. We both watched his monologues religiously, along with certain features like puppy dog rescue, or First Drafts with his wife. Once it came to the celebrities, who cared? The TV either went off or to some other recorded program. I don't know, nor care, who they are or what their latest project is. Movie? Don't go and haven't since covid  - except for two on Tuesday matinees when school was in session. Music? Yawwwnnnnnnnn. Some awards show they hope for an award from? I have no interest, opinions, nor control, and much like Steve we watch the Oscars (taped) mainly to see who died this last year that we'll miss. I guess we're getting old, but so what. May everybody be so lucky.

Colbert supported worthy causes. I'm not exact on the details but Ben and Jerry's ice cream worked with him - or vice versa - to produce a new flavor, "Americone Dream" whose proceeds go to charity. It's still there, a top ten seller, and still supporting charities. We bought some and enjoyed it, recommend it if you like a reason to support those more in need than you are. That's the kind of human being Colbert is. Good humor, good human.

So when CBS cancelled his show at tRump's insistence, we did our best to cancel CBS. Their local news/weather station is adequate but we shun it, opting for NBC instead. I miss Gayle King in the mornings, but still boycott. We do our best to avoid regular programming, though I confess there are a couple dramas we follow, like their Friday night lineup. but we're reaching out to other networks more, and I keep discovering more stuff on PBS to watch. Even better, I'm supporting them and as a result can pull up older programs I missed watching, like Astrid. Even if Steve hates listening to French with English subtitles. Oh well. He's got other favorites I don't get enthusiastic over. DVRs are great.

We've looked for a late night replacement. Jimmy Kimmel is as close as we can get, but right now he's doing the late summer break thing where he has some celeb we don't know or care about taking his place. I just check in once weekly to see if he's back yet, and find I'm almost indifferent that he's not. There's other stuff to watch, read, or do at that time. He's just not Colbert.

I can only hope for myself and millions of others that Stephen Colbert returns to somewhere easily watchable, with enough fanfare that we actually hear about it and can put a timer on it/him again. In the meantime, I hope he saved and invested wisely during the years he reigned on late night TV, and enjoys a financially comfortable retirement for as long as he wishes. 

I have no idea whether, if/when he comes back, he'll be able to gather his team back. Proving what a class act he is, he made a very public pitch on their behalf to others in the industry to hire them, touting their talent and skills. I'm hoping the world listened and they found new good jobs, the way every one of his rescue puppies found homes over the years.

But I'm selfish. I WANT STEPHEN COLBERT BACK ON MY TV!!!!!

And by the way: If anybody is planning to bring back really good stuff on TV again, I put in my vote for a return of Babylon 5!!! Watched it through twice, taped it on VHS - bad tech - then bought the DVDs to watch again. They didn't survive AZ heat all that long. Got the books explainng the details and back stories for each episode, including emphasis on funniest comment, usually from Inanova. If they can bring back Gunsmoke and MASH, it's past time to do so with Babylon 5 for a whole new audience to add to the nostalgic one.

Brain Boggled... Or Not?

I've been watching PBS episodes of Nova lately, the ones trying to explain black holes, what we've learned and how, what they are, how they started, what's inside, how they'll end.

They have answered a bunch of questions for me, or at least as much as thoughts ending in we-don't-know or we-can't-tell-yet-but-our-latest-theory-is... can produce in answers. Every time I think I understand what they just presented, more questions pop up.

Some concepts from the series stick. Black holes collect galaxies around them and shape them. Stuff actually does escape. They eat stars, and presumably their solar systems. We can't tell what goes on inside the event horizon... but we sort of think we can. And not to be ignored, the graphics in the presentations were fantastic. Mostly. Using a rushing river as an analogy was just silly.

My basic starting place with trying to understand them was wondering what came before and what happens after. What's weird is now that I think that was pretty well explained, I kind of just expanded my question to wondering exactly what eternity is. My understanding was somehow a big bang happened and we have a universe with stars and planets and some with life and some not, and everything is moving somewhere else. Somewhere in all that I didn't lose my thoroughly taught belief in the conservation of matter and energy. Only now the two are more mixed than separate because that seems to be what/how black holes do. From there I go to the idea that the big bang had to have something in mass or energy before it banged, or where did anything come from? Now add in the concept that black holes change mass and energy, maybe by interchanging them into each other... or not.

Eventually the black holes will have sucked in everything, and at that point they won't exist themselves any more. Mass is energy if looked at on the atomic level, everything having a charge of positive, negative or neutral. Those tiny things combine to become atoms, combine to become bigger atoms, combine to become molecules, ad infinitum. Hydrogen crashes into hydrogen and makes helium, crashes again.... When the black holes die in the far future, the energy ends, so mass goes away back to nothing.

Except does it? 

What is infinity anyway? Where did the big bang come from? What is left when the universe is over? How can/could either of those things happen? So far 14 billion years is mind blowing enough. But that just brings us up to around now. Presumably billions more years will pass before everything "goes away" - whatever that will actually mean. Does everything return to its simplest energy? And if so, isn't that what we think started it all, and why we call it the Big Bang? Is this merely one cycle among endless other cycles, of boom, construction, destruction, and starting over again? Is infinity so large as a concept that forever actually has meaning? Will everything just keep cycling and cycling and cycling and...?

But you know what? I've only got a few years ahead to wonder about things like that. I'm just going to picture the universe as a Slinky, endlessly stretching, contracting, not in seconds like the toy, but in successive forevers. Let's put some fun back into the unknowable, eh?

Will anybody live long enough to prove the conservation of mass/energy? It's a handy idea to use, simplifying lots of math and such.  It that's inescapably true, then we have a slinky universe. So who's got the staircase that the slinky started down on? 

I guess this is the point where people start inventing gods again. Or would there be people next time around?

But... When I Turn 100....!

No, I'm not actually planning on living that long. Sure, one of my parents nearly made it, but I tend more to take after the other one in a lot of physical ways, so mostly I'm not shooting for much past 90. It seems sufficient enough... at least for now.

Why am I thinking about this? It started with a totally weird letter I got today, claiming I hold two health insurance policies for my Medicare Part D plan. For those who haven't needed to know yet - bless your hearts - that involves coverage for medications.

My first reaction was that this was so improbable that somebody somewhere wasted money on mailing out some new approach to a scam. More of a waste since postage rates just went up. It was just too weird to be anything else. There was a number to call, and they were still open after suppertime (with or without supper, which for me meant without, and not likely until I straightened this out.) So I got out my insurance cards, called the the drug store I do business with because the plan covers their prices, and verified exactly who they have on record as providing my coverage. Yep, exactly who I thought, just one company, and last year's company, whose card I still hadn't cleaned out of my purse for some reason, was no longer providing coverage. OK, it seemed like a reach, but most years I have a few months of deductibles before full pharmacy coverage and this year I haven't had any.  I figured there was a 5% chance I had a problem with paying for overlapping coverage. They verified only one company was paying for my meds.

So I called the company, and will freely admit I started out with an attitude! No nasty words, just plenty of tone. The person on the other end of the line wanted me to verify information. It this was a scam, I wasn't about to give them any. So we went back and forth a couple times - he had remarkable patience - to locate information they should already have if this was an official inquiry. We finally settled that, and found out that the two insurance company names were the same company, same policy, just a name change at the top of the year. Merger maybe? Who knows? I was covered, all I needed to know.

OK, so that wasn't the source of their inquiry. I was directed to a line on the form showing I'd had another company's insurance years ago, and they needed to know if I still carried it. Was I covered in some other way, like at work, or my car insurance?

BINGO !!!  I looked at that date I was supposed to be covered. It was long ago but very quietly rang a niggly bell. I'd never heard of that company, and it wasn't, in fact, my insurance. But the date was the day I had been rear-ended by a school bus, requiring an ambulance ride and a bunch of diagnostic hospital tests. Yes, my neck hurt but at worst it was a little sprain. Back then I had more problems from my shoulders when I had to move my arms out of the way for clear images. That arthritis already was severe back then. That's the part I remembered. The tests were agony! I didn't pay a penny for the imaging, a procedure I can't even get now with my pacemaker. I assume either the school or the bus company had the insurance which covered every penny, and my personal auto insurance company held their feet to the fire until every penny owed was paid. I was never bothered by hearing or reading a name.

Once that was  explained, I assured this company I never actually had that insurance policy, never knew who they were, and was not, in fact, getting double coverage from a second company. Problem solved!

I didn't hang up before verifying that with the two names I did recognize I hadn't been paying them double Part D premiums. Darn it! A tiny part of me was hoping somehow their records had gotten screwed up enough that I'd been being charged double premiums and would get a refund. Sighhhh.... no such luck.

In all this process I had noted one (other) weird thing on their form.  They showed an expiration date on my prescription coverage of what theoretically will be my 100th birthday! As stated above, I don't anticipate that to be an issue. But I wonder if, should I make it that long, do they stop covering my pharmacy needs? Would I need a different company? Policy? Do they reward my potential longevity with free meds after 100?

Yeah, I don't believe that either. It might be fun to check however, if it ever becomes relevant. But right now it's supper time. Hmm, ham sandwich with pepperjack on raisin toast? With or without chive & onion cream cheese? There's almost a teaspoon left of that. Bye!

Progress, Multiple Ways

I'll start with Steve. First, he's needing lower doses of pain meds. He had his post-surgery visit with our primary doc yesterday, and she's happy with his progress, though- as always - warning him about overusing pain meds, meaning narcotics. Tylenol is preferred of course, and both of us are using way less even of that. He hasn't had any Oxy today and he's walking more without the walker. Of course, belt and suspender style, while he walks independently through the house, he has me follow behind keeping his walker just a short distance away, just in case. It sure beats another 911 call after a fall. And wheee, I get exercise too. It's also a great excuse to hit the bathroom of course.

He goes into the kitchen to fix whatever meal appeals to him without his walker now, being a shorter distance, and knowing there is a wheeled office-style chair tucked under the island for whenever he feels either unsteady or tired. It's also very handy for sitting in front of the freezer when he unloads bagfuls of groceries into both freezer and fridge. The lack of pressure to do it speedily means he can keep to his organization plan and knows where, for example, which kind of cheese is. Or make sure the last of the old milk is either still fresh or to be tossed before the new one goes in. Pain isn't influencing his decisions anywhere near as much as even last week.

I'm back in the garden today, the first day in a long time under 90 degrees and/or no hazardous air outside. I had fancy iris delivered about 3 weeks ago now, and wet their packing material a bit and popped them in the fridge. No way was I going outside, partly because I was alone with no backup in case of a problem - in a yard with all kinds of tripping hazards - and partly because I was still shuttling back and forth to visit Steve every day.  The plants could wait. Plus I was already tired enough from all the traveling to not even be interested in the gardens. Not even with my camera.

I did make one exception for the back garden, very fully in bloom for the first time after all the battling with rabbits and squirrels.

I had to shoot small segments at a time to get in something of all the colors - or at least close - because even with all the colors blended and scrambled, no single shot could catch it all. Both of these two photos don't get them all.  Ask me next year. These are much fuller and taller than last year, so I'm wondering if they will improve even more then. Not to mention earlier and later varieties, extending the total bloom season. There isn't long enough yard to get that far away along that 28 foot wall. Five minutes of work for photos, including 100 feet total hike, was only just doable right then. Not everything was in bloom yet, but I wasn't going to go back and back and back to get THE picture.  I can try again next year. The neighbors walked past on their way to get mail and enjoyed it, making a point of telling me while they stopped to see how we were doing, noting all the come-and-go including with ambulances. Just like we notice what's happening with our close neighbors.

Today was the day to for working with iris. Or else. Heat starts climbing again tomorrow - of course! I had squeezed a few minutes in last week to mark two daylily clumps to dig out after blooming is done, so I can be sure to get rid of the one variety I don't like... and others do. They're on a list.  Call that ten minutes total, using string. It didn't count for gardening in my book. 

I have been plucking spent daylily blooms the last few weeks for compost and to prevent seed pods. Let their energy go into roots for next year's flowers. Not every day, but some days a dozen and other days 50. Easy work, just short reaches in from outside the concrete blocks to keep the flowers fresh instead of mushy globs trying to stain everything. It's easier now that Steve is home, though I used to try to get it in either to or from visits to his rehab. Still not really gardening work, just a bit of fussiness as I pass.

This morning was watering in two beds, weed pulling in one  since the other one was too crowded for weeds to survive anyway, and beginning planting both the new iris and replanting iris from where they were too crowded by daylilies to bloom, all going into a bed currently only  half bereft of rhubarb with proper room and sun for them. I'm doing it in short stages because even now the sun is too hot, requiring me to change beds and work load following the shade, such as it is. One more stint in an hour and the iris dug earlier, now sitting in a water bucket while I recoup energy, will go in the ground with a little extra dirt around them, watered one last time... for today. Job half done for the season. The heat will be rising again, so more watering. The best part is the farthest bed in this project is just past the end of a single hose, instead of requiring a second one to pull all over, wind. unwind, rewind. That happens when the back lily bed needs water, and will have to when the rhubarb is replaced by the last iris. A thumb over the end and the water reaches everything worked with right now. One day of interspersed labor, then a second planting later next month, and all the iris have their own, sunnier home.  Color theme, like all the lilies, or the spring daffodils or crocus, is kaleidoscope.

After that, somebody please remind me to stop buying that next new irresistible iris plant. Please!!!!!

My reward for today's work will be a shower tonight and visions of beauty coming next spring. My reward for many days of planting is my balance has improved. Not sure about stamina yet though. My punishment will be a lot more  work later.  All to be followed by what I hope is a final dead foliage pull after the inevitable frost, This is the year I learned it's supposed to come out, instead of hanging around to fertilize the next year's plants. Instead they give the plant pests a home. Oops. Next spring will be the test of my success or failure in the project, but either way I still get to dream success all winter before any dreams are dashed. I will keep a final bag of rhubarb stalks in the freezer to protect new Asiatic shoots next spring. Since my son gets one of the rhubarb plants I'm hoping for a small emergency supply if needed the following year after the rhubarb takes good hold in its new home. It depends on how much he needs for jellies.

But now I have to go before the skeeters wake up so when I collapse for the night I don't have to go out again. The bad part of that is I cleaned out the ice cream supply last night and have no inclination to hit a store for more for a few days. Oh well, Greek yogurt and .... I'll come up with something: berries, chopped pecans, coconut, maybe cocoa powder.....  combined of course.You can dream up your own supper. We can compare notes on whose is yummier another time.

Getting Acquainted With Fire Station 19, St. Paul

 Of course we had to do it the hard way, making them come to us. We never saw their actual station, just their great personnel and ambulance. THANK YOU STATION 19!

It started with a mid afternoon lunch date with another couple at our mutual favorite restaurant/deli in the Highland Park area, Cecil's. Tradition has us sitting down when it's not that crowded, as in between major meal times, for great food and lots of conversation without hogging a table. On our way out we usually hit the deli and load up, mostly on their caraway rye bread, sometimes on unique sweets. 

This was Steve's first actual outing of a non medical variety since his hip surgery and all that followed. Or at least the non-medical bit was the plan. We take the walker everywhere of course, fighting it up and down our stairs, then  into the back seat of the car. We're getting better at that, most days. It's a bit close to my shoulders' weight limit, but gives Steve the freedom he needs to go places, allowing him to use its seat and pouch when needed, or lock the wheels in place in areas like our home parking spot which has a slight but definite slant down onto the street with its own steeper slant down to the lake while switching to/from the car. Neither of us is going running after it if it rolls. A lock controlled  by a quick hand pull at each handle is a must when nobody is holding it.

There is a learning curve to using walkers, of course. Yesterday we learned after two years we still had things to learn. After thought given to where to park at the restaurant, on the street out front or around the corner to a parking area inside a fence with only one access point as far as possible from Cecil's front door, we decided to go for a street location with much less walking needed.

It turned out to be a mistake. We'll be using their parking lot from now on, where all is paved and level.

Getting out of the car was fine. There was room between car and curb for feet, and a grassy spot between curb and sidewalk for the walker. Steve could stand once the car door opened, and I'd place the walker on the grass in reach, holding firmly on to the other side, bracing it against movement while he stood, grabbed handles, stepped up, got adjusted, and pushed it onto the sidewalk. I stayed with the car for a minute to lock up after getting my keys and purse out. Steve was already going up their single front step with help from a handrail and a polite young lad of perhaps 10 who held the door open for Steve while he needed it. Easy-peasy so far, and maybe a slight touch too easy, lulling us into not thinking out the return to the car.

When the time came, I was in the line at the register learning exactly how one added a tip via their particular machine, while Steve was already out the door, down the step, and nearly back at the car, lickety split and without me, ready to get in the car while it was still locked. I'm guessing he's a bit too used to our driveway where by the time we're both down our steps I've hit the button on the fob unlocking the car doors remotely. I hadn't done that yet, still too far back. But he leaned just a bit towards the car door from the grassy spot and one wheel started to sink into an unseen divot in the dirt. In no time Steve was down, between the car and the curb, no room to move, and calling for an ambulance. Not help to stand, an ambulance!

He knew what we hadn't seen, that his head smacked the curb hard. He also remembered for us what I hadn't thought of yet in the moment, that while a few strong people could pull him upright with care, as had been done previous times he'd fallen, he was newly on blood thinners. It wasn't going to be that simple! Just to complicate things a bit more, the spot the car was in had no shade, and it currently was 95 out, resulting in him lying on concrete even hotter while waiting for help. He was at minimum feeling like he was getting burned, and whether damaging his body or not he was definitely overheating in a hurry!

We were suddenly surrounded by people trying to help. One of our tablemates was on the phone to 911, trying to give directions to the nearest corner when the route is known by heart to us, street names unnecessary, and signs with their names  hard to read. A couple people with different angles on the street,  upon hearing the issue shouted out the intersection names. When I informed another person who'd asked that we had no blankets to help shade him with (or possibly put under him- but needing more expertise than we were capable of despite now being joined by a nurse who'd been in the restaurant and rushed out to assist) one bystander ran to his car and pulled out a bath towel still damp from earlier  swimming to help both cool and shade him, while another person came up with a large red plastic fabric that I could help hold by holding up to car windows for shade ... like I had normal arm strength. Of course it was assumed, and I did my best while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. 

It felt like half an hour and it felt like two minutes. I think three minutes was closer to their arrival time, once they got an accurate location.  I was quickly needed to talk with one of the paramedics to give information on not just what happened but his name, address, medical history. Somebody else took over keeping him shaded. "My" paramedic was just a tad annoyed for half a minute when I got called away for a second by the ones tending to Steve, but I was the one who knew the name of Steve's blood thinner, and that was important on the spot. It's one that allows excess bleeding in case of injury - as opposed to one that's hideously expensive even if you have insurance because those companies don't cover it. In Steve's case he might have hit his head hard enough to be getting a subdural hematoma, making brain damage possible if not controlled.  We might never know without hospital equipment. I came right back to the first paramedic and resumed filling in information, including spellings, and "what county is that in?"

Transporting him was quickly decided upon, so I had to decide for us whether it would be United or Regions Hospital. I mentally debated a few seconds. I've had good treatment at United, and know people who've found Regions overcrowded and understaffed. To be fair it does serve a slightly different function, but I also recalled knowing better how to get to Regions than United, balanced by Regions being further from us, more challenging mostly because of all the new construction in St. Paul resulting in not knowing from last visits which streets are now open as well as how few landmark buildings look anything like what they did back when I was working. I'd known both hospitals plus others from front doors to docks and every necessary stop in between like labs or medical records, depending on the freight needing to be dropped off or picked up. I knew all the places to park free without getting a ticket with my marked car, and just as important could locate every restroom! 

 Once United was decided upon for possible quicker testing, things moved faster. Steve was carefully raised to a stand without any pressure put on his knees, something they will not tolerate. The paramedics listened to him when he requested that, plus managing it in that cramped space, earning his continuing gratitude. Everything around Steve except the red plastic sheet was tossed into my car without my giving them any attention. As a result we now have possession of one helpful man's towel, though after its later discovery it was finally spread out to dry instead of getting moldy. I'm sorry to whoever it belongs to, being a nice looking towel from a very helpful person. I wish I knew how to return it.

The paramedics were very helpful to me during the transport, as they had been the whole time, discussing options and so forth. They stopped traffic in both directions on the street, giving me the opportunity to pull out in a U turn and tuck in behind them, where I then tailgated them, with approval and my 4-way flashers on, all the way to where they turned in at "Ambulances Only" and I proceeded on into the parking ramp. No more free parking for me these days. Steve told me later that one paramedic in the back of the ambo with him gave him a running commentary on how I was doing keeping up, keeping him reassured during the drive. They had taken a second before we all moved to inform me that I was to get my parking ticket validated, so all the time Steve was in the ER and wherever else before I got my car out, with or without him, I got a low parking rate. Off we went, the first and hopefully only time in my life I tailgated another vehicle, and did it successfully and safely both on city streets including through stoplights, then onto the freeway and tagging right along through the ramp meters allowing one vehicle on at a time. Any other time I could get a ticket for being vehicle #2 on the same green meter light. The 4-way flashers apparently tied me to the ambulance like glue in other driver's perceptions, except for one entering the freeway at a ramp we were simply passing. That car went away soon enough and everybody got where we needed to together.

I did have one oddball thing happen in the parking ramp. My 4-ways refused to turn off. I tried several times, and nothing. Fortunately, shutting the engine off to park did the trick. Once I crossed the street, a greeter at the lobby front desk offered to escort me from there to the ER, a convoluted and long hike ending on a different floor. However, knowing the lobby from years past, I know there was a restroom hiding in the corner and let her know there'd be a bit of a delay. When I returned she pointed me to an ice water dispenser and cups on the table near her desk and invited me to help myself. It was still 95 out and it had been a walk, so I did. I also got my parking ticked validated, which involved a stick-on bar code across the front. Then we took a long hike to the ER where I got a different tour through the ER to Steve's cubicle. Our friends from the restaurant had already gotten there and had been keeping Steve company until I got there, then kept me company while he was out for a cat scan.

I had come in from the car with all the little scattered things in a large bag. I knew some would be needed, like his billfold with ID and insurance cards. There was also a styro box with his leftovers from our lunch. A phlebotomist poked his head in frequently to take blood, each time finding Steve busy with a different medical person or out of the room for a test. He finally got blood samples plus a compliment from Steve for being painless. Before we finally got out of the ER with a good bill of health, we both agreed that the food had been warm too long to be safe to eat, especially the potato salad, so away it all went in a large trash container. We both noted blood spots on his pillow when he lifted his head, proof of a hard contact earlier.   I took the pause during his CAT scan to reach out on my phone to family, locate another restroom because yes, it had been that long, and chat with our friends until they finally excused themselves to head home as it was getting late. They at least had brought a cooler for their leftovers for their supper. (Note to self for next time!!!) (Also buy some "canned ice". The old stuff disappeared somehow.)

They wouldn't allow Steve to walk or even get wheeled all the way through the hospital to the lobby across from the parking ramp. I could easily have driven to that door to pick him up. Instead I got a guide so I could walk that maze to where I could get directions to the car, then dive another maze to head around to the back of the hospital to pick him up. In that process I discovered automated payment booths hate me, the single person inside one booth was a grouch who couldn't understand why somebody with a low compact car and a brand new shoulder had problems reaching as high as the process required, and my final ransom to leave was a mere $5. Steve's pickup spot was easy enough to find but a narrow crazy zoo with cars in all directions and locations full of construction obstacles fighting to get in, then out with their former patient without damage, though somehow we all seemed to survive intact. Or at least for a long as I was there.

The drive home was wondrous, and not just because we were going home. It was over a half hour of watching otherwise ballooning dark clouds rise high enough above the rest to catch the last rays of the setting sun, play peekaboo with other developing columns allowing glimpses of bits here, then huge lumps there and hiding again, their next bright reveal as we traveled going from white to gold to peach to pinkish, still managing to surprise us with new shapes and deep pinks poking out even as we parked the car and stopped a few minutes to chat with a neighbor cross the street for a bit. We hadn't seen each other for weeks, all occupied with different medical challenges and with other folks stopping by to help in one way or another. We all managed to find a moment to view the final colored shapes peeking between grey blobs, all still growing, hiding, peeking, fading, until it was time to get inside, get cool, and sit!

I will note that rain did manage to get our attention a bit later while we relaxed. We had a whole three seconds of it on the south end of our roof, including two or three hailstones. Nothing showed on the street from a peek between the blinds. I remain amazed that a cloud tiny enough to have such a small footprint still managed to hit our roof! Maybe it was just wishing us a good night.

We obliged by having one, as well as we were able. A few new random sore body parts did manage to get our attention in attempts to prevent sleep, but we both did eventually succumb to its charms.