I came home after work to find the lawn, including the tiny bit of backyard, that's just outside my kitchen door, mowed down to a nub. I'm afraid the wild strawberries I've enjoyed the last couple of years will not grow back. I have pictures from last year (see header photo above), and I can remember what they tasted like. But, I am in some distress about the shorn quality of my back yard, and don't know what to do. I will call or e-mail my landlady tomorrow, asking her to tell whoever mows to skip my piece of backyard for the rest of the growing season.
I am feeling frustrated with the things I'm tolerating in the name of stability. Something's gotta give and I hope I can find the courage to change whatever needs changing. This is not as much of a non-sequitor as it may seem. I have been feeling that I need to do something but haven't felt like I could, but now I see the more I wait the harder it's going to be to move forward.
Spring is such a kick in the pants, you know?
Updated 5/22: Looks like the strawberries have survived and I'm seeing blossoms so maybe all is not lost! In other news the breeses are sweet and full of lilac blossom scents...so lovely.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Aunt Rose
One of the painting sketches I've been doing of relatives on my mom's side of the family. In this case my Aunt Rose, from a photobooth photo of her when she was about nine years old.
rites
Above I cut my hair this morning - celebrating spring by liberating my curls.
Below, the rug I retrieved from my workplace dumpster a few weeks ago, the day I gave it away via freecycle.org
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Obits
A couple of weeks ago I posted about someone who may have committed suicide (the family believes it was accidental and there is evidence to back this up). I now feel compelled to report another death.
A couple of days ago (Saturday) my employer's (Randy's) dad committed suicide. He was found in a shallow creek. He left a note. He'd been struggling with depression for a long time. Sometime in the past six months/year things got much worse and everyone in the family was feeling the effects of it. I feel for Randy and his family. I hope Randy's dad is no longer in pain, is no longer suffering. And I hope Randy's family feels some lifting of that burden of suffering as well.
A couple of days ago (Saturday) my employer's (Randy's) dad committed suicide. He was found in a shallow creek. He left a note. He'd been struggling with depression for a long time. Sometime in the past six months/year things got much worse and everyone in the family was feeling the effects of it. I feel for Randy and his family. I hope Randy's dad is no longer in pain, is no longer suffering. And I hope Randy's family feels some lifting of that burden of suffering as well.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Addendum to "A few things I found..."
This morning when I got in to work I told the coworker who had told me about the person who had left things behind yesterday that I had found a lot of that person's stuff in the dumpster and what I had taken home. The coworker assumed that the landowners had taken the vacating renters' stuff and put it in the dumpster, and was understandably upset. But I didn't think that's what happened, that is, I still thought it was the person who left their own stuff in the dumpster, and went on with my day until I overheard a little snippet of conversation that was related to the one I'd had earlier.
The same coworker I talked with at the beginning of the day had just found out the person who left all their stuff behind had committed suicide, last night or very early this morning. A few hours later I found out one of the people who runs a business next to the bakery was a friend of the deceased and that the deceased had killed themselves by drowning in a nearby river, and that the deceased has family in the area. I also found out that the person who drown had been having a hard time for a very long time and had "been more functional in the past eight months" than the friend had ever seen them, partly due to being housemates with a caring mutual friend.
It's a shock, of course. I feel strangely connected to this person I met for maybe five minutes ten days ago, because I've handled and now have some of their stuff. But that was true yesterday. Now it's stranger because that person will never use these items again, not only because they left them behind but because they are no longer a part of the corporeal world.
It never entered my mind that leaving those items behind was one of the last things the person would do before they left this world. I thought it was more on a continuum of bipolar manic behavior that would eventually swing back the other way. I just didn't see it coming. I think it takes experience as well as intuition to see the possibility of suicide in other people, and although I've got gobbs of intuition, I have, mercifully, very little experience with suicides. So I think I need to forgive myself for not being able to anticipate what came after the person left their things behind, what came after they drove off in their car, what came after they went down to the river.
Once again, as I wrote yesterday, this time to say good bye -
I love you.
I'm sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
The same coworker I talked with at the beginning of the day had just found out the person who left all their stuff behind had committed suicide, last night or very early this morning. A few hours later I found out one of the people who runs a business next to the bakery was a friend of the deceased and that the deceased had killed themselves by drowning in a nearby river, and that the deceased has family in the area. I also found out that the person who drown had been having a hard time for a very long time and had "been more functional in the past eight months" than the friend had ever seen them, partly due to being housemates with a caring mutual friend.
It's a shock, of course. I feel strangely connected to this person I met for maybe five minutes ten days ago, because I've handled and now have some of their stuff. But that was true yesterday. Now it's stranger because that person will never use these items again, not only because they left them behind but because they are no longer a part of the corporeal world.
It never entered my mind that leaving those items behind was one of the last things the person would do before they left this world. I thought it was more on a continuum of bipolar manic behavior that would eventually swing back the other way. I just didn't see it coming. I think it takes experience as well as intuition to see the possibility of suicide in other people, and although I've got gobbs of intuition, I have, mercifully, very little experience with suicides. So I think I need to forgive myself for not being able to anticipate what came after the person left their things behind, what came after they drove off in their car, what came after they went down to the river.
Once again, as I wrote yesterday, this time to say good bye -
I love you.
I'm sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
A few things I found in the garbage at work today.
So today I'm doing the usual end of the day stuff at work- taking the garbage, recycling and compost out to their respective dumpsters. I do the recycling first, then lift the lid of the garbage bin and see a couple of six foot long lengths of magenta colored fiber board just covering a pile (maybe 20) of books, a big area rug, a portable massage table, a couple of sweaters and a pair of muck boots and six more smaller lengths of fiber board, and other misc. items. I start looking at the books and grab Mary Oliver's New and Selected Poems and the Dalai Lama's Ethics for the New Millenium and the Anatomy Coloring Book, by Wynn Kapit and Lawrence M. Elson. I also take the fiber boards, which I realize is probably the bookcase that held all these books, the massage table, and the area rug, plus a few other small items.
Usually I just find garbage (relatively neatly tucked away in clear plastic bags) and maybe the odd piece of styrofoam or something else that isn't recyclable and doesn't belong in the compost either. So this was an unusual situation. When I came into work today I heard a story about someone who had just started renting a room in one of the buildings the bakery shares with other businesses. Apparently something happened to this person very early in the day, something that precipitated them being asked to vacate their rental agreement, and (I don't know if this was before or after they were asked to leave) they left all their stuff in the dumpster.
All I know is what I heard and then what I found in the dumpster. Something happened to make this person decide to leave all these things behind, and in a big hurry. I am not going to venture a guess...I'm just gonna say I've seen this kind of behavior before, and, in this context, it is not a good sign. I doubt I can do anything to help the person who left their belongings behind. But perhaps I can make a difference WITH what they left behind.
I could see, almost as soon as I hauled it out of the dumpster, taking the massage table to a clinic nearby and the leaving it on their porch with a "free" sign on it. I did this on my way home from work. Tomorrow I'm going to launder the area rug, as it's dusty and kind of moldy smelling, but I think otherwise it's in good shape. I don't know if I'm going to re-assemble the bookcase or not. The color is fabulous, but I may have let that cloud my thinking. It's kind of beat up. I don't know if it's something the ReStore will want or not. I'll ask. I'm going to keep the three books I took.
Not too long after I got home tonight I opened up the Mary Oliver book and found an inscription:
4/15/01
To, For your lyrical and compassionate essay on disabilities. (And for our conversation afterwards, p. 110, line 1).
Page 110 is the poem "Wild Geese", and this is line 1: You do not have to be good.
Sometime in the past year my therapist shared this poem with me. He read it to me during a session and then some weeks later I got a photocopy in the mail. Until recently I had it taped to my computer monitor (I recently got a new LCD monitor and I'm enjoying it's uncluttered vastness too much to tape anything to it, at present). So as soon as I turned to page 110 and saw the title I knew what I'd be reading. Here's the whole poem:
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
As it turns out I needed to read this poem today. I needed a bit of divine intervention, and I am lucky to have received it.
To,
I love you.
I'm sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
Usually I just find garbage (relatively neatly tucked away in clear plastic bags) and maybe the odd piece of styrofoam or something else that isn't recyclable and doesn't belong in the compost either. So this was an unusual situation. When I came into work today I heard a story about someone who had just started renting a room in one of the buildings the bakery shares with other businesses. Apparently something happened to this person very early in the day, something that precipitated them being asked to vacate their rental agreement, and (I don't know if this was before or after they were asked to leave) they left all their stuff in the dumpster.
All I know is what I heard and then what I found in the dumpster. Something happened to make this person decide to leave all these things behind, and in a big hurry. I am not going to venture a guess...I'm just gonna say I've seen this kind of behavior before, and, in this context, it is not a good sign. I doubt I can do anything to help the person who left their belongings behind. But perhaps I can make a difference WITH what they left behind.
I could see, almost as soon as I hauled it out of the dumpster, taking the massage table to a clinic nearby and the leaving it on their porch with a "free" sign on it. I did this on my way home from work. Tomorrow I'm going to launder the area rug, as it's dusty and kind of moldy smelling, but I think otherwise it's in good shape. I don't know if I'm going to re-assemble the bookcase or not. The color is fabulous, but I may have let that cloud my thinking. It's kind of beat up. I don't know if it's something the ReStore will want or not. I'll ask. I'm going to keep the three books I took.
Not too long after I got home tonight I opened up the Mary Oliver book and found an inscription:
4/15/01
To
Page 110 is the poem "Wild Geese", and this is line 1: You do not have to be good.
Sometime in the past year my therapist shared this poem with me. He read it to me during a session and then some weeks later I got a photocopy in the mail. Until recently I had it taped to my computer monitor (I recently got a new LCD monitor and I'm enjoying it's uncluttered vastness too much to tape anything to it, at present). So as soon as I turned to page 110 and saw the title I knew what I'd be reading. Here's the whole poem:
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
As it turns out I needed to read this poem today. I needed a bit of divine intervention, and I am lucky to have received it.
To
I love you.
I'm sorry.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Another 25 minutes and it'll be the last day in March!
The whole month has gone by and I've hardly posted a thing.
What have I been up to?!
Watching a lot of movies and slightly delayed TV, on hulu. I've been sucked into the vortex and it's extradinarily hard to extricate myself.
On top of that a few days ago I joined facebook and in the space of three days accumulated 51 friends (as of 7:30pm...who knows how many more I've gotten since then).
However, this past Saturday, a wonderfully balmy 60 degree day, I dragged one of my old futons (the one that's over 15 years old, not the one that's only 3 years old...that one is replacing the gone to the landfill sofa cushions of yesteryear) over to my studio. You'd think this would be a fairly simple matter, but it took some doing. Then I did a little painting with caran dache crayons, with the window open (!) and the radio on.
I've been staying up past 12:30, 1am, most nights and feeling all dispeptic and abashed when I wake up and it's almost 10am (okay, this happened...twice). If there was someplace I had to be before then I would, of course, get up to make the appointment or what have you. But my work schedule is noon to 8pm (give or take), so unless I have something planned I can sleep in, if I need to. Kind of nice sometimes. But I always feel a bit, um, decadent, when I do.
Anything else to add here? Passover is coming. I will be at my brother's place in Massachusetts for the 2nd night, Thurs. Apr. 9th. I lent my mother's self-published cookbook to a co-worker, whose wife is Jewish. The co-worker was saying he wasn't fond of any of the dishes that were usually served at the seders he's been to, so I thought good old mom could help him out. Here's hoping.
Happy end of March everyone! See you in April.
What have I been up to?!
Watching a lot of movies and slightly delayed TV, on hulu. I've been sucked into the vortex and it's extradinarily hard to extricate myself.
On top of that a few days ago I joined facebook and in the space of three days accumulated 51 friends (as of 7:30pm...who knows how many more I've gotten since then).
However, this past Saturday, a wonderfully balmy 60 degree day, I dragged one of my old futons (the one that's over 15 years old, not the one that's only 3 years old...that one is replacing the gone to the landfill sofa cushions of yesteryear) over to my studio. You'd think this would be a fairly simple matter, but it took some doing. Then I did a little painting with caran dache crayons, with the window open (!) and the radio on.
I've been staying up past 12:30, 1am, most nights and feeling all dispeptic and abashed when I wake up and it's almost 10am (okay, this happened...twice). If there was someplace I had to be before then I would, of course, get up to make the appointment or what have you. But my work schedule is noon to 8pm (give or take), so unless I have something planned I can sleep in, if I need to. Kind of nice sometimes. But I always feel a bit, um, decadent, when I do.
Anything else to add here? Passover is coming. I will be at my brother's place in Massachusetts for the 2nd night, Thurs. Apr. 9th. I lent my mother's self-published cookbook to a co-worker, whose wife is Jewish. The co-worker was saying he wasn't fond of any of the dishes that were usually served at the seders he's been to, so I thought good old mom could help him out. Here's hoping.
Happy end of March everyone! See you in April.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Update
Hi everybody. I have to get up early tomorrow morning, so I won't be long. Just want to keep myself from falling off the edge of the blogging universe with this little update.
I've been doing some drawings of my Aunt Rose from photographs, three so far. They are very rough so I won't be posting them, just want to say I'm doggedly making progress in my studio, one drawing at a time.
I went out and got a 17" LCD monitor (for my apt) and a new CD/radio (for my studio) - yay tax refunds! -, and found how listening to the radio helps me stay in my studio longer than without it. I kind of knew this, but actually experiencing it was unnerving.
My Aunt Elaine died last Saturday (she was my Dad's sister; Aunt Rose, also deceased, was my Mom's sister). I went to the funeral, in Philadelphia, where a lot of my family lives, and where my aunt lived her whole life, except the year she was pregnant and gave birth to my cousin Jancy, when she lived in Japan. The stories I will be needing to tell. You betcha.
In the meantime, think end-of-winter thoughts: Day light savings time starts this Sunday. It's gonna be light out at 6:45pm.
I've been doing some drawings of my Aunt Rose from photographs, three so far. They are very rough so I won't be posting them, just want to say I'm doggedly making progress in my studio, one drawing at a time.
I went out and got a 17" LCD monitor (for my apt) and a new CD/radio (for my studio) - yay tax refunds! -, and found how listening to the radio helps me stay in my studio longer than without it. I kind of knew this, but actually experiencing it was unnerving.
My Aunt Elaine died last Saturday (she was my Dad's sister; Aunt Rose, also deceased, was my Mom's sister). I went to the funeral, in Philadelphia, where a lot of my family lives, and where my aunt lived her whole life, except the year she was pregnant and gave birth to my cousin Jancy, when she lived in Japan. The stories I will be needing to tell. You betcha.
In the meantime, think end-of-winter thoughts: Day light savings time starts this Sunday. It's gonna be light out at 6:45pm.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentines; mysterious and otherwise
.jpg)
I received three valentines today.
The first is the image, above, of a red stylized heart on a white ground. This image has been plastered all over the windows of my little city's downtown businesses for years and years. No one, or very few, know who the mystery lover is. But that just adds to the pleasure of coming downtown to the red and white love-liness of it all.
The second was an orange shasta daisy (with a sprig of greens) given to me by my dear next door neighbors, fellow college alums, renters to me of my studio, and artists, not necessarily in the order. A gentle surprise and shining with pride of place on my kitchen butcher block table.
The third valentine I just discovered when I went over the studio to give my friends a reciprical valentine and to retrieve my water bottle from my studio. I was carefully walking across my very icy driveway when I saw a large piece of paper attached to my mailbox. What could it be? From a distance it didn't look like an ordinary advertizement. Ah, no, not an ad at all!
Actually, it's a limited edition valentine from my favorite small press printer - Kelly, of mayday studio. If you squint you can see she only made 15 of 'em. Such a select group! So sweet of her to think of me! I can't remember the last time I enjoyed Valentines Day so much.
Is it finally coming true that once I've let go of expectations I actually get what I want? I woke up grumbling a bit "Oh, yeah, it's valentine's day, whoopee." But I didn't expect anything from anybody (I had even momentarily forgotten about the downtown plasterer). So it's been pretty sweet saying Happy Valentine's Day and being greeted with equally friendly returns.
If you're reading this please consider yourself officially bestowed with a personal valentine's, from me.
Love,
Eva
Monday, February 2, 2009
links and some thoughts on being a Jew & antisemitism
I'm linking to this site: Its All Connected and this site: Alas a Blog both posting and taking comments about antisemitism. The author of this series of posts, titled "What We Talk About (and don't talk about) when we talk about (and don't talk about) antisemitism and Israel" is Richard Jeffrey Newman a published poet, writer, translator and educator. RJN is currently working on #5 in the series, which I look forward to reading whenever it goes up.
I've been following the posts and occasionally, briefly, commenting since they started to go up on January 19th. They were inspired, in part by this post by Julie at (and cross posted at Alas a Blog) Modern Mitzvot: Why I've Stopped Talking About Gaza which, after some of RJN's posts and many comments inspired this: A Gentile Priviledge Checklist
I've been riveted by these posts and have a lot of thoughts but nothing I've attempted to write, in the comments sections of a number of the above posts, says what I want to say. So I thought I would start by posting here, on my own blog, that I am following these posts.
I think that's all I can write even now. Everything I write sounds strange and not quite it and so I will just have to wait until I write something I don't immediately want to delete. Wish me luck, and if you're interested do have a look at the links above. Thanks.
I've been following the posts and occasionally, briefly, commenting since they started to go up on January 19th. They were inspired, in part by this post by Julie at (and cross posted at Alas a Blog) Modern Mitzvot: Why I've Stopped Talking About Gaza which, after some of RJN's posts and many comments inspired this: A Gentile Priviledge Checklist
I've been riveted by these posts and have a lot of thoughts but nothing I've attempted to write, in the comments sections of a number of the above posts, says what I want to say. So I thought I would start by posting here, on my own blog, that I am following these posts.
I think that's all I can write even now. Everything I write sounds strange and not quite it and so I will just have to wait until I write something I don't immediately want to delete. Wish me luck, and if you're interested do have a look at the links above. Thanks.
Friday, January 30, 2009
sand dollar beauty
Thanks to Will Cook for providing this image on his web site carolinanature.com
For a few weeks now I've been wandering around with an image in my mind of a sand dollar skeleton - a white disk with a star shape in the middle and little slots around the perimeter. Tonight I looked around the internet and quickly found three images; two of skeletons and this. I had never seen a live one, as pictured above, never mind with such gorgeous colors. I'm besotted.
Now that I have seen it I can't stop looking at it and I've made it the desktop on my computer screen.
Oh yeah, and I just got a big table for my studio, so I hope that'll help move things along there.
More about this and other developments soon.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Founders Keepers
I was just at SPA. There was a memorial exhibit for John Hanna, a Barre stone sculptor & community activist who passed away a few weeks ago. I thought I'd only be there for a few minutes, really, but ended up staying for a couple hours, catching up with people and generally having a good time. After, that is, I paid respects to John Hanna's memory and had a look at the exhibit and the slide show. And getting to cry a little over losing such a fine human being.
But I didn't feel completely at ease until Sue Higby asked if anyone had a cork screw and Michael Sherman and I pulled out our Swiss Army knives at the same time. I ceded the honor to Michael and after that I felt right at home.
I saw a lot of familiar faces, including fellow SPA founders Janet Van Fleet, Maggie Neale, Georgia Landau, and Nancy Hanson, and a bunch of people from the stone sculpting community of central Vermont. Maggie and Georgia wanted to know if I would join them for a snow sculpture competition on January 31st. Georgia had this wonderful gleem in her eye and just about pounced on me while saying "It'll be great - we'll be the SPA Founders team!". She even got Janet to reluctantly agree to join in. Then Georgia and Nancy started talking about about what the sculpture might be, maybe an ear or an eye...or maybe a mermaid or a merman.
I haven't decided yet, but it might be fun, especially because I haven't been part of any group art activities for a long time, and I haven't done anything with the SPA founders for an even longer time. Yeah, it might be fun. We'll see.
Here's Georgia, me and Nancy circa 2003, at the "Puttin' On The Dog" show and annual winter gala, with a Rhoda Carrol painting in the background.
But I didn't feel completely at ease until Sue Higby asked if anyone had a cork screw and Michael Sherman and I pulled out our Swiss Army knives at the same time. I ceded the honor to Michael and after that I felt right at home.
I saw a lot of familiar faces, including fellow SPA founders Janet Van Fleet, Maggie Neale, Georgia Landau, and Nancy Hanson, and a bunch of people from the stone sculpting community of central Vermont. Maggie and Georgia wanted to know if I would join them for a snow sculpture competition on January 31st. Georgia had this wonderful gleem in her eye and just about pounced on me while saying "It'll be great - we'll be the SPA Founders team!". She even got Janet to reluctantly agree to join in. Then Georgia and Nancy started talking about about what the sculpture might be, maybe an ear or an eye...or maybe a mermaid or a merman.
I haven't decided yet, but it might be fun, especially because I haven't been part of any group art activities for a long time, and I haven't done anything with the SPA founders for an even longer time. Yeah, it might be fun. We'll see.
Here's Georgia, me and Nancy circa 2003, at the "Puttin' On The Dog" show and annual winter gala, with a Rhoda Carrol painting in the background.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
a good night's work
Thanks to Amy for asking if I wanted to go out to draw and Gina for the new pencils and sketchbook. I LOVE TO DRAW PEOPLE SO MUCH! What a gas.
Edited 1/7/09: Oh, yeah, I did these drawings at the Langdon Street Cafe, of high school students and their mentors performing poetry and music wonderfully together.
bakery fun
I took this picture at the bakery the day before Christmas. At the mixer is Randy, bakery co-owner (and husband) with Liza, who is just outside the picture frame on the right, and his two children, Solveig (pronounced soul-vey) who is standing on the palette of flour and Maia, standing next to her Dad at the mixer. It's a blurry picture, which is partly a drag and partly great, as it shows the motion of the moment, basically what I was trying to capture. The girls were squealing with pleasure over having the the formery all to themselves (the formers and bakers all had a rare day off of production). I loved their squealing happiness. It made my day. Oh yeah, and getting a shot of that great big taffy pulling loop of dough, so awesome and so everyday.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
niece and nephew
Here are portraits of my niece and nephew, at my brother and sister-in-law's house at Thanksgiving. Happy December everybody!
Friday, November 7, 2008
new studio!
I just moved into this new studio today. I just brought a few things, stared out the windows (there's two), read a little bit, and took a nap while listening to my friend practice accordian and harmonica next door.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
VOTE
My mom, a lifelong Democrat, got me started on the campaign trail early. I helped her put up posters for the McGovern campaign in 1972, when I was six years old.
I was sworn in as a registered voter in my college cafeteria in the fall of 1984, just barely 18 years old. I voted in the primaries and the subsequent presidential election.
I don't understand why people don't register to vote, or use that as an excuse not to vote, or use any excuse not to vote. It's a mystery to me. But like all good mysteries I come back to it every couple of years and see if I can figure it out. No luck this year. I still meet people who I otherwise love and respect who aren't going to vote. Some of them have the grace to be embarrassed. Some won't meet my eye and are angry I'm judging them. So be it.
I'm voting on Tuesday. I hope you are too.
I was sworn in as a registered voter in my college cafeteria in the fall of 1984, just barely 18 years old. I voted in the primaries and the subsequent presidential election.
I don't understand why people don't register to vote, or use that as an excuse not to vote, or use any excuse not to vote. It's a mystery to me. But like all good mysteries I come back to it every couple of years and see if I can figure it out. No luck this year. I still meet people who I otherwise love and respect who aren't going to vote. Some of them have the grace to be embarrassed. Some won't meet my eye and are angry I'm judging them. So be it.
I'm voting on Tuesday. I hope you are too.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Bizarre and more bizarre
Back in this past winter and spring I posted a bit about health issues.
On September 1st my doctor died from a stroke. He was, I think, 61 or 62, and in otherwise good health. This in itself is a shock, but there's more. I was deeply immersed in my art making project in September and so wasn't reading the newspapers much and completely missed the obituaries that were published in the weeks following my doctor's death. I even missed the letter I got from my insurance company telling me my doctor would no longer be available. They didn't say he died, they said he would no longer be able to provide care.
Finally, about a week ago, I got a new insurance card in the mail with a new doctor's name on it. I got my mail too late in the day to call the insurance co., but I did call my doctor's office. I got the answering service. Not a machine, but an actual person. I said I assumed I was reaching the service, and they said yes, but the office was closed. I said, sure, it's 7pm, I figured that. And the woman said, no, the office is closed for business - the doctor has died. Well. I'm sitting there with my mouth hanging open. The woman apologizes, says she understands how shocked I must be, and every time she tells another patient she herself is shocked all over again. She tells me some details about how the doctor died (in a kayak, with his wife). There isn't much else to say, so I mentally note that I have to call the insurance co. and the doctor I've been assigned on Monday morning.
Monday morning. I call a doctor who a friend of mine really liked, but she's not accepting any new patients. The office is at capacity. OK. They give me the name of a new doctor in town who is taking new patients. I try to find the phone number of the doctor I've been assigned by the insurance co., but I look everywhere and there is no listing for them. I look in the hard copy phone book, white and yellow pages, I look on line. I look under the doctor's name, I look under the practice's name. Nothing. Nada. So I call the friend's doctor's office and they, thank God, have the number. I reach the assigned doctor's office. They advise me they aren't taking patients outside their limited geographical area (even though this is who the insurance co. assigned me to). This area doesn't include where I live, and they recommend the same doctor my friend's doctor's office recommended. Apparently this guy is probably the only doctor in central Vermont who is taking new patients. OK then. On to the new doctor. I call, I explain. They know all about it. We make an appointment for December (which I later change to January so it'll be an annual physical, and therefore covered by the freaking insurance). They say they will send me an introductory pack of forms, including a release of records form that I can use to get my medical records from my deceased doctor's office.
Which is really good, because it turns out the deceased doctor's office isn't releasing records directly to patients, but only transferring records to other doctor's offices. I find this out when I call the deceased doctor's answering service on Tuesday, because the answering service told me I could talk with someone there on Tuesdays and Thursday between 2-4pm. It turns out I couldn't actually talk with anyone besides the answering service, but they did clarify that I could drop my release form at the office during those hours, but only to drop it off (or fax it over), that I could not actually get my records. And how, I asked, would I know that, first, they'd recieved the request, and second, responded to it and sent it to my new doctor? Oh, they said, you could call your new doctor's office and check with them. As much as I wanted to argue the circular logic of this response I saw that the woman at the answering service couldn't help me, so I said thanks and hung up.
One thing that took a day or so to sink it was a detail the answering service woman had told me (or maybe it was one of the receptionists at one of the other offices...it's kind of mushed together in my mind now). It's this - the deceased doctor's office will be processing requests to release medical records until the end of October. I called my new doctor's office yesterday (Friday) asking if they had the correct address for me, as I hadn't recieved the forms yet. They told me they had a big stack to send out, but they appreciated getting a confirmation of my correct address, and that they'd be sending the forms out shortly. I sure hope I can get my records transferred before Oct. 31st. I don't want to think about what I might have to do after that date. Sue? File a brief in civil court? What all?
Then, today, Saturday, I'm at the farmer's market. I see the nurse practitioner from my deceased doctor's office. I tell her I feel badly for her, she must be having a hard time. Well, she wants to know if I got a letter from the office letting me know what happened. I told her no, that I found out from the insurance co. She told me the family of the deceased doctor, through an intermediary, told her they didn't have any money to pay her a week after the doctor died. That she couldn't work there anymore, not even to contact patients to let them know what happened. The nurse, on her own, looked for (in the phone book) and was able to find 53 of the several hundred patients she knew, and in this way was able to let them know by letter, that the doctor had died and they needed to find a new doctor for their primary care.
So she is trying to find her own way and is working to get a new practice together. You see, a big reason I was a patient of the deceased doctor was because the nurse practitioner was on staff. I could get my physical examination with a woman. Now? Now I have to start all over again, with a new doctor whose only recommendation is that he's so new he has room for me. Meanwhile, if the nurse practitioner starts a new practice I may or may not join her there, as she is a bit muddled in methods and communication. Fun all around.
But I can see even though this is a general pain in the ass, it is not so awful as it might be. I am in good health. I am not dependent on the deceased doctor for any prescriptions, treatments or diagnosees. As frustrating as this situation is, it could be so much more so. I'm grateful for that. My heart goes out to the patients who actually have to find their way through this morass, not just checking in around the edges like I am doing.
Hopefully everything will go smoothly with the transfer of records and I won't have anything new to report until next year. I'll let you know.
On September 1st my doctor died from a stroke. He was, I think, 61 or 62, and in otherwise good health. This in itself is a shock, but there's more. I was deeply immersed in my art making project in September and so wasn't reading the newspapers much and completely missed the obituaries that were published in the weeks following my doctor's death. I even missed the letter I got from my insurance company telling me my doctor would no longer be available. They didn't say he died, they said he would no longer be able to provide care.
Finally, about a week ago, I got a new insurance card in the mail with a new doctor's name on it. I got my mail too late in the day to call the insurance co., but I did call my doctor's office. I got the answering service. Not a machine, but an actual person. I said I assumed I was reaching the service, and they said yes, but the office was closed. I said, sure, it's 7pm, I figured that. And the woman said, no, the office is closed for business - the doctor has died. Well. I'm sitting there with my mouth hanging open. The woman apologizes, says she understands how shocked I must be, and every time she tells another patient she herself is shocked all over again. She tells me some details about how the doctor died (in a kayak, with his wife). There isn't much else to say, so I mentally note that I have to call the insurance co. and the doctor I've been assigned on Monday morning.
Monday morning. I call a doctor who a friend of mine really liked, but she's not accepting any new patients. The office is at capacity. OK. They give me the name of a new doctor in town who is taking new patients. I try to find the phone number of the doctor I've been assigned by the insurance co., but I look everywhere and there is no listing for them. I look in the hard copy phone book, white and yellow pages, I look on line. I look under the doctor's name, I look under the practice's name. Nothing. Nada. So I call the friend's doctor's office and they, thank God, have the number. I reach the assigned doctor's office. They advise me they aren't taking patients outside their limited geographical area (even though this is who the insurance co. assigned me to). This area doesn't include where I live, and they recommend the same doctor my friend's doctor's office recommended. Apparently this guy is probably the only doctor in central Vermont who is taking new patients. OK then. On to the new doctor. I call, I explain. They know all about it. We make an appointment for December (which I later change to January so it'll be an annual physical, and therefore covered by the freaking insurance). They say they will send me an introductory pack of forms, including a release of records form that I can use to get my medical records from my deceased doctor's office.
Which is really good, because it turns out the deceased doctor's office isn't releasing records directly to patients, but only transferring records to other doctor's offices. I find this out when I call the deceased doctor's answering service on Tuesday, because the answering service told me I could talk with someone there on Tuesdays and Thursday between 2-4pm. It turns out I couldn't actually talk with anyone besides the answering service, but they did clarify that I could drop my release form at the office during those hours, but only to drop it off (or fax it over), that I could not actually get my records. And how, I asked, would I know that, first, they'd recieved the request, and second, responded to it and sent it to my new doctor? Oh, they said, you could call your new doctor's office and check with them. As much as I wanted to argue the circular logic of this response I saw that the woman at the answering service couldn't help me, so I said thanks and hung up.
One thing that took a day or so to sink it was a detail the answering service woman had told me (or maybe it was one of the receptionists at one of the other offices...it's kind of mushed together in my mind now). It's this - the deceased doctor's office will be processing requests to release medical records until the end of October. I called my new doctor's office yesterday (Friday) asking if they had the correct address for me, as I hadn't recieved the forms yet. They told me they had a big stack to send out, but they appreciated getting a confirmation of my correct address, and that they'd be sending the forms out shortly. I sure hope I can get my records transferred before Oct. 31st. I don't want to think about what I might have to do after that date. Sue? File a brief in civil court? What all?
Then, today, Saturday, I'm at the farmer's market. I see the nurse practitioner from my deceased doctor's office. I tell her I feel badly for her, she must be having a hard time. Well, she wants to know if I got a letter from the office letting me know what happened. I told her no, that I found out from the insurance co. She told me the family of the deceased doctor, through an intermediary, told her they didn't have any money to pay her a week after the doctor died. That she couldn't work there anymore, not even to contact patients to let them know what happened. The nurse, on her own, looked for (in the phone book) and was able to find 53 of the several hundred patients she knew, and in this way was able to let them know by letter, that the doctor had died and they needed to find a new doctor for their primary care.
So she is trying to find her own way and is working to get a new practice together. You see, a big reason I was a patient of the deceased doctor was because the nurse practitioner was on staff. I could get my physical examination with a woman. Now? Now I have to start all over again, with a new doctor whose only recommendation is that he's so new he has room for me. Meanwhile, if the nurse practitioner starts a new practice I may or may not join her there, as she is a bit muddled in methods and communication. Fun all around.
But I can see even though this is a general pain in the ass, it is not so awful as it might be. I am in good health. I am not dependent on the deceased doctor for any prescriptions, treatments or diagnosees. As frustrating as this situation is, it could be so much more so. I'm grateful for that. My heart goes out to the patients who actually have to find their way through this morass, not just checking in around the edges like I am doing.
Hopefully everything will go smoothly with the transfer of records and I won't have anything new to report until next year. I'll let you know.
Friday, October 10, 2008
existential questions and Curtis Savard photographs
Curtis Savard took a bunch of photographs at Fort Can Gallery during the reception a few weeks ago. I've been chilling out, so am just getting around to posting about them now. But I have to say I love them. This one, above, is of my friend Amy and me in the gallery, mural of kissing couple in the background, portraits and other artwork in the foreground.
And this is a section of wall that includes the poster for the show, an abstract drawing a number of people particularly liked, and another view of the group portrait of Brian, Tara & Kelly. Can you read the writing? It says, in large letters "Is it too much?" and then in smaller lettering below, "Is it enough?" - questions I ask myself all the time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
