Waiting for the fog to lift...

It's one of those gloriously foggy mornings, the kind that one gets in my area in late September or early October as the morning air cools over nearby warm water. It's late November, though, and it's the time of year when older lady cousins should be wiping frost from windowpanes, smiling, and declaring it to be 'fruitcake weather'. The fog, and the obscured road ahead, function as metaphor.

It's been quite awhile since I last worked on these pages; it's the longest break I've taken from these meanderings since this project was started. It's a kind of obvious cliché to note that much has changed during my absence from this - this - this what? Diary? Forum? Longer form Social Media? (It's probably best that I not get into a discussion of Facebook at this point, except to note that any entry over a couple of paragraphs in length goes largely unread. The same is true for linked articles, except that people will respond - at length - in high dudgeon to the assumed content from merely reading the title.)

an end of summer garden visitor

Aside from the usual cheery transformations of climate and politics (not unrelated), I've had a personal development of some significance. I've removed myself entirely from the low power Community Radio station I helped create. It's the usual story of frustrations with an all volunteer Board of Directors (I was the President, for a second time), the volunteer staff of 60 some persons, and attempting to manage both. All as an unpaid volunteer. Things erupted over the July 4th weekend; after two sleepless nights in a row, I realized that I just couldn't do it anymore, and resigned. I also walked away from my radio show. I figured that if I weren't easily accessible, I wouldn't be called upon to do things, or, for that matter, feel that I should participate. I'd assumed I was putting the show on hiatus, and would return after a nice rest, but I no longer know if that will happen.

Angel's Trumpet and Russian Sage

The weather this past summer was hotter and more humid than I could take. I spent a small fortune, close to $300.00, for a portable air conditioner. (My rented studio has no windows, just a sliding glass door to a balcony.) As I once passed out from the built up heat in this place, I felt the expense for something I'd only use for a couple of months a year was justified. The heat and humidity also made it difficult to work in the garden. I take care of the much larger Solar Hill gardens; with time at a premium most of my work on my own spaces went to the vegetable garden. The flower garden suffered from neglect.

 

 

The late fall crop of raspberries was wonderful, heavily producing over an extended season. I delightedly made an unconscionable amount of raspberry jam, even though I abandoned an entire picking for a week's wilderness camping via canoe trip.

Paddling between Little Tupper Lake and Rock Pond in the Adirondacks.

One of several beaver lodges on the same passage - taken on the way back a few days after the above photo.

Sanity has been maintained through the video projector and many, many movies. Of course, I'm upset with myself for failing to note them. While I'll remember Kay Francis in 'Mandalay', I'll never be able to remember much of the other Kay Francis titles from a Turner Classic Movies DVR binge. Mandalay, by the way, is a hoot. Francis played a good girl sold into white slavery style prostitution by a traitorous boyfriend. After surviving and escaping her time as "Spot White", she ends up killing the traitorous tormentor, falling for an alcoholic ex-doctor, and trudging off with same into the jungles on a mission of mercy to relieve the suffering of plague victims.

 

Kay Francis as Spot White in 'Mandalay'.

How could I not note a WWII era western, 'Cowboy Canteen', in which Jane Frazee's ranch is turned into an entertainment venue for servicemen stationed nearby? Charles Starrett wanders about, two rollicking numbers are provided by an impossibly young Roy Acuff and his Crazy Tennesseans, two numbers are contributed by Tex Ritter, plus there's couple of numbers from Jimmy Wakely and His Saddle Pals. Add in Vera Vague, plus a few turns by a number of country and western vaudevillians. The toppers (for me) were the two songs provided by 'ranch hands' The Mills Brothers, "(Up a) Lazy River", and "Paper Moon"!

 

The Mills Brothers, fresh off their farmhand duties (in
spectacularly ill advised costumes), 'rehearse' their hit "(Up a) Lazy River".

Roy Acuff (on the right), and a few of the Crazy Tennesseans,
as they perform "Wait for the Light to Shine". 

I am remembering such things with a little more clarity than had become my custom. I was reading an article on the internet, clicked on a link, and saw a reference to drugs which cause memory problems. I followed the latter link, and found the statin I've taken for years for bad cholesterol listed. I stopped taking it for a couple of weeks to see what would happen. My memory improved! My vocabulary, which I admit I'd downplayed and dumbed down after being told I intimidated people, began to return to everyday use. I'd had episodes in which I'd be doing a tribute show on the radio, and at station break be unable to name the person being saluted. I even heard myself on one show's recording credit Louis Armstrong when I meant Louis Jordan. Things are much better now. The memory isn't as sharp as it once was, but where recalling a bit of once well known information was taking 20 minutes, that action now takes anywhere from 10 seconds to a few minutes. It's not consistent, but it is a definite improvement. It's been six months since I stopped the statin; my doctor went along with this experiment provided I took another cholesterol test after 6 months. The improvement is enough that I'm concerned, lest the test put me back on the damn pills.

Early morning mist obscuring an island with pine trees, reminiscent of a Turner painting, Rock Pond, Adirondacks.

 There's a lot more movies to note, more life events to note (this is a sort of diary, after all), but my late breakfast of oatmeal (with maple sausages, the entire concoction drizzled with maple syrup) is ready. Now that mornings (when I usually do this kind of thing) are no longer spent at the garden, I am going to try to get back in the habit of writing. He said, as the fog lifted.

Loads of hot air

At 7:45am this morning, the temperature was already 45 degrees Fahrenheit. While this may not seem remarkable, it is not the normal order of things in Vermont in February. The snow and ice from the only snow which has had accumulation so far this winter is just about gone. In February.

It is political season in the U.S. (when isn't it anymore?). The Republican party, which controls both the U.S. House of Representatives and the U.S. Congress still denies climate change. Although, to be fair, some in that party are now beginning to admit that it is happening - they just don't think that humans have played any part in it. So, there is no need to address pollution, carbon emissions, how we supply our energy needs (meaning don't mess with big oil or nuclear power), or do anything to address the situation. Other than provide more tax cuts and legal protections to the corporations which have played a major role in creating this mess.

Bernie Sanders is a U.S. Senator from Vermont, the state in which I live.
He is running for the Democratic nomination for President.
This is the kind of plain, direct statement he usually makes.

In December, an international accord was reached in Paris to lower greenhouse gas emissions. While it is nowhere near what is needed, it is at least a start. It's taken close to what, 40 years, to get this far? (It was in the mid 1970's that scientists gave up on the idea of aerosols as possibly creating global cooling and more or less agreed - and published - that global warming via the 'greenhouse' effect was actually happening. Climate change theories that incorporated a human causal factor go back to the late 1800's.)  The Paris accord hasn't been signed yet - that won't happen until April.

This is one of the nicer responses to Senator Sanders
from the conservative right. So far, the money source
funding "Rebooting Liberty" has not become public.

The agreement had barely been announced when Republicans in the U.S. government made it clear that they did not support it, and that they would work to prevent the President of the United States from being able to deliver on promises made to other countries in the negotiations (in which our country and our Secretary of State, John Kerry, played a major role). The House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology is against it. That committee is chaired by Lamar Smith, Republican form the state of Texas, who believes that climate change not only doesn't exist, but is based on data that was intentionally manipulated to produce this result for some nefarious purpose. Lamar Smith, by the way, has received well over $600,000.00 from the fossil fuel industry during his years in office. (Although he hasn't stated it explicitly, he has made statements which could easily be interpreted as rejecting the concept of evolution. It plays well to his base. Something like 47% of Republicans in one survey stated outright that they do not believe in the "theory of evolution".) The House Committee chaired by Representative Smith began new hearings on this subject yesterday, February 3rd. The hearings have a title - “The Paris Climate Promise: A Bad Deal for America".  The Chair's opening statement included the thought that the deal would help destroy the U.S. economy without  producing any appreciable result.

As the primaries for the Democratic and Republican nominations for the office of President of the U.S. are underway, one might wonder about the candidates' respective positions regarding climate change. The two Democratic candidates consider the issue real, and one that needs immediate responses. The top three Republican candidates (as of this writing) all either deny climate change outright, or deny that mankind has had a hand in it.

Shirley Temple and Eddie Cantor

My radio show last week was about a different U.S. President, as the program took place on January the 30th, the birthday of Franklin D. Roosevelt. When he was 39, Roosevelt contracted infantile paralysis, a disease so old that it is depicted in Egyptian hieroglyphs. It left him crippled. As he searched for a way to deal with it, he discovered the healing effect of the Warm Springs spa in Georgia. He won the Governorship of New York after campaigning in a wheelchair. When Warm Springs fell on hard financial times, he bought it and opened it to anyone who needed it, regardless of ability to pay. By the time he was elected President, it had eaten up 2/3 of his fortune. His first year in office, at the height of the Depression, he held a Birthday Ball whose proceeds would go to his new Warm Springs Foundation. It raised over one million dollars in one night.

In 1934, the Presidential Birthday Ball concept went national. Any community which held one would split the proceeds with the President's foundation. The foundation also began to fund research for a cure for the disease, which was becoming known as 'polio'. One night, during a radio show, entertainer Eddie Cantor asked all of America to contribute, to send any spare change they had, even a dime. He wanted to see a march of dimes from every town to the White House. It wasn't long before the President's foundation became known as the March of Dimes. Roosevelt died in the Spring of 1945, just before the fall of Germany in WWII. That January, the Birthday Balls contributed $18.9 million to the foundation. After his death, the U.S. Congress requested the U.S. Mint honor Roosevelt by putting his profile on the dime.

The research funded by Roosevelt's foundation resulted in Jonas Salk's vaccine, which became available in the mid 1950's. Polio was, for the most part, wiped out. Sadly, it reappeared a couple of years ago in war torn Syria.

This week's radio show also took note of Eddie Cantor's birthday, which is on January 31st. Far too few pieces were played for jazz trumpeter Roy Eldridge, whose birthday was on January 30th. As a finale, there is the January 30th, 1946 broadcast of the Old Gold show, better known as "Songs By Sinatra". The Benny Goodman sextet appeared in the guest slot.

As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.

Red Cup mania

Rembrandt tulips
 

Back when I ran bookstores for a living, there was a very successful paperback reprint of Charles Mackay's 1841 opus, "Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds". One of the chapters examined the tulip mania of the 1640's. Basically, a plant virus struck the Netherlands and caused breaks in the colors of tulips. The desire to possess the affected bulbs built into a frenzy. Fortunes were quickly amassed, and spent, investing in their acquisition. Prices for just one bulb reached to such heights that a well off merchant's lifetime earnings could not afford the purchase of one single bulb. Although the term would not come into use for a number of years, the "economic bubble" burst, destroying both fortunes and lives. The descendants of these tulips still exist: they are usually sold under the name "Rembrandt".



Just one portion of the Solar Hill gardens last June. The entire space,
including my garden, would comprise about eight squares of this size,
including all of the area around the tree center left.

When I last posted, I had just finished planting the tulips. I'm in the process of shutting the gardens down for the winter.  It is a large task (I've also been tending Solar Hill's gardens.) As plants go into their dormancy,  it's a good time for many of them to be transplanted. Several peonies, asters, a daylily, etc. were either being overgrown by their neighbors, or were getting less sunlight due to tree growth, etc. For good garden culture, plants should be cut back, leaves cut off and disposed of to prevent overwintering of diseases, and so on and so forth. I've accomplished most of it, but am still in the final stages of getting it all done.

Generally, I've been in the garden four to five days a week recently. Today was going to be a long garden day, as there weren't a lot of other things which couldn't be put off - I want to finish putting the garden to bed this week. Now, last night there was a meeting of our all volunteer community radio station's Board. This was our first meeting after our annual bash, so yearly Board elections had to be held. I've been returned to the position of Board President/Station Manager. This morning, about 7am or so, I sat down to fire off a few emails based on discussions from last night. Then the phone rang with a DJ's questions. The man calling is learning disabled, and calls several times a week, often asking the same question he asked the day before. He hasn't finished his training, but wants to fill in time slots which other DJs have posted that they won't be able to make. He has a case of radio fever, which often affects new DJs. I've repeatedly told him he has to finish his training, and must have the person who helps him present when he does a show. But he still calls and tries to get me to say something different. There is a DJ doing her last show today, so there needed to be posts to the station's email list, the station's Facebook page, etc. The upshot is that I finally stopped working on station business at 3pm. (By the way, an 8 year old, who has been doing a show with her mother since she was old enough to talk, just did her first 'by herself' show at 2pm. She put many of our adult DJs to shame. There were almost no children's songs that would have been heard on the show she does with her mother. Nope, this kid is into Spearhead, and jam bands.)
The station is another sort of garden.

I did spend about a half an hour of personal time on Facebook, checking responses to posts for my radio show, what a few of my friends and family were up to, etc. There were several Facebook sessions, sending messages to people about station business and etc. It was therefore impossible to escape the issue/outrage of the moment: the Red Cup. It would seem that all of Facebookland is obsessed with the red cup. Folks are posting impassioned diatribes about the issue. Memes, images with a slogan which are easy to repost allowing the poster to avoid having to think through what one might say, are spreading like soft butter on a hot skillet. There is a veritable red cup mania.

What happened is this: some church (or church official) that no one ever heard of called for a boycott of the Starbucks coffee chain. The problem started when Starbucks began using their holiday themed coffee cup. It is red, with a Starbucks logo in green and white. The church was offended, nay, outraged, that there was no "Merry Christmas!" scrawled across the cup. No "Season's Greetings" (which would have caused more of a "War on Christmas" fervor). No pictures of Santa Claus, the Christ child in the manger, nothing. Why, it is another example of the persecution of Christians! This little bit of idiocy has become a target for everyone who wants to outdo their friends by posting an ever more incisive meme (which I still unintentionally read as 'me me') in a frenzy of self righteousness equaled only by the original call for the boycott.

Warning: this being the year 2015, and social media being what it is, one of the examples of the red cup memes contains expressions of common vulgarity.

" ...whole communities suddenly fix their minds upon one object, and go mad in its pursuit; that millions of people become simultaneously impressed with one delusion, and run after it, till their attention is caught by some new folly more captivating than the first."
                                                                       - Charles Mackay, "Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds"

Of course, my own cynicism leads me to wonder if the church and its representative actually exist. The large coffee corporation could have hired someone to start all of this just to get themselves a lot of free publicity.
                                                        
Another object of mass intoxication is the once wonderful holiday of Halloween, which has been built into a merchandising bonanza. The madness now begins in August when "pumpkin spice" English muffins hit the shelves of the supermarkets. Of course, there are no pumpkin spice muffins to be had anywhere near Halloween itself. This past September, in a Halloween products commercial I saw on television, the Halloween goods were displayed in front of a group of fir trees, which were decorated with colored lights. Holiday creep is upon us. At any rate, I never got my radio show of October 31st, Halloween,  posted - so here's that show, mostly big band Halloween songs. I know it seems odd to be posting it over a week late, but I'd like all my shows to be here for friends and family from away who might have some crazy interest in just what I've been up to these last few years.



Well, I thought I might go on about nothing in particular (there a whole 'nother mess o' memes being posted about a Republican Presidential candidate who has been playing fast and loose with the truth, and expressing somewhat surprising opinions such as his belief that the pyramids were built by the Jewish patriarch Joseph to store grain. He is the current Republican frontrunner in the reality show contest for the Presidency of the United States. Instead of continuing in this vein (by the way, I swear I'm not making this stuff up), I think I'll go sample the pumpkin bread I baked while composing this missive.

Herewith, my radio show from this past Saturday, November the 7th, in which we listen to excerpts from the radio, as well as a few of the songs on the jukebox, around early November, 1944. The featured broadcast at the end of the show is one of the Eddie Condon Jazz Concerts, with guest stars Lee Wiley and Red McKenzie.



As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show(s).

It's just a (September) garden in the rain...

It's exciting to be back working on a blog post after just two days. It's still a busy time, so this almost feels like cheating time away from other projects. But I'm about to start making my third cup of coffee; it has rained off and on most of the night and morning, providing gentle percussion for the background noises of life;  my friend Ralph (an absent minded professor if there ever was one) is on the air with a show playing some of the earliest recordings of  "Jass"; and to be quite frightfully honest, I don't mind ignoring catching up on cleaning, doing dishes, and organizing. As of last Sunday, I am 65. I'm retired. I no longer care that I've been on the drop and go lifestyle again and let things get to the point that I have to 'catch up' on the cleaning.

We've had rain a couple of times this week; we certainly needed it. It has been uncomfortably hot and humid again, but this current rain seems to have finally broken that pattern. With the improvement this has brought to the weather, last evening's sleep lasted over 8 hours. I'm normally a 6 hour sleeper; these last couple of weeks I've only managed about 4 to 5 hours in shifts of wakefulness versus slumber. The effects of this have been so pronounced that even in my dreams I don't sleep properly.

Late summer zinnias at Solar Hill

 The garden at this time of year becomes less of a dream and more of a mess. Between the heat, the humid heaviness in the air, and the intensity of the direct sun, I do not accomplish much after 10 or 11 am. I spend a bit of my morning garden time tending to the Solar Hill gardens as well as my own. Solar Hill's beds are a little more formal in style; weeds tend to show and distract. My own spot of alleged heaven is what I attempt to pass off as being in the cottage garden style, which (in my mind at least) is much more forgiving of weeds. After protracted dry spells, the rains startle the weeds into spurts of growth that are awe inspiring. I take some comfort in the thought that at least they fill in the empty patches left by plants which have already gone by for this season.  The rains have also made it difficult to work in the garden. Not just because everything is so wet, and not just because it is easier to pass plant diseases around as one brushes against them. My problem is that I like gardens in the rain, flowers bent over with drops of water as though Disney artists of the 30's had been turned loose in creation of Technicolor multiplane visions. I tend to stand around and stare.

An old variety of Morning Glory volunteered near the garden gate. I assisted them in finding their way up the fence and over to the arch of the garden's gate. Oh, by the way, that mess in the back, extending off to the left? That's my area. The dark purple of the old morning glories really captured my attention this year. There was a bit of  black eyed Susan intermingling with them,  but they have gone by. The effect was wonderful - I noticed several people stopping to take pictures.

The above was taken just a few weeks ago as the morning glories were getting started.

Meanwhile, back in the rainy mess of my area...

I like the older double white cosmos, which I start from seed as one never finds it at the garden centers anymore. It grows very tall, 7 feet or more, and when not staked, bends over easily in the rain or a wind. The red cosmos is darker than most varieties now available, also started from seed. But it isn't as proficient a bloomer.  Next year, I'll have to sow more of it.

It's been too hot to edge the beds. I tend to not stake my dahlias - I like the effect of them nodding over after wind and rain have gotten to them.

 I used to have a neighbor gardener who parked her plants across from my spot, and rarely got back to tend to them.
At this point, we haven't seen her for many years.  I've begun cleaning up her area so we can enjoy some f the treasures that were hidden by the weeds - like this charming late blooming daylily. It looks rather smashing against the wild Artemisia.

Meanwhile, the last bloom on any of my daylilies was caught by the sun peaking through the clouds.

I haven't had snow-on-the-mountain in my garden for many years. I've always liked it, and this year was delighted to see it appear in a seed catalogue which specializes in heirloom seeds . Of course I ordered it. Even though I don't have room or proper light to do so, I started it indoors during the last weeks of winter. With any luck I'll find where I put the seed packet so I can do it again next year in case it doesn't seed itself in.

Yes, it's a weedy overgrown mess. I just squint my eyes and tell myself it's Monet.

 

Last night's radio show observed a few birthdays of favorite performers - Dick Haymes, Bobby Short, Yma Sumac, and Mel Torme . The old Philco helped with those observances before tuning in September 1940, managing to catch bits of Burns and Allen, Beat the Band, The Chamber Music Society of Lower Basin Street, Refreshment Time With Singing Sam, and news bulletins (with Edward R. Murrow reporting from London) before settling on Glenn Miller's September 17th Moonlight Serenade from Providence, R.I.



As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.

As summer slides away, fair season arrives...

Holy Moly, Batman. (side thought - why do I find it interesting that Blogger's spell check recognized, but was unable to suggest the correction for, 'Holy Moley'?) Two weeks have gone by since I last posted here. I'm behind the eight ball again. (What is it with the trite phrases today?) (What is it with the use of parenthesis today?) I haven't even posted my radio show links here for anyone who might be interested. Sorry about that.

The show from Saturday August. 29th began by 'playing a couple' for the birthdays of Dinah Washington and Charlie Parker, as soft summer breezes created a reverie of those last glorious August days in the sun at the Jersey shore when I was much, much younger...

Something odd happened with the graphic for the streaming player from that program. It looked fine on the Soundcloud page - I had to monkey with the image a bit to get it to display properly. By the time I was done, it looked great. Until the 'project' was 'saved' and the image shrunk. The problem shows up in the player below - do scroll down, please, as there is more. I just can't seem to correct the size of the image.



The show  for Sept 5th took note of the local proclivity for county and state fair season; the first hour perambulates around that theme. The second hour played whatever was at hand, including a few favorites from 'last" season's shows. The joys and adventures of aging struck once again - there is a clip from a Jean Shepherd broadcast of July 1976 which, as I gave the credits, somehow came out as 1946.

Fair going was on my mind. It was Labor Day weekend and time for the State Fair up in Rutland. That one isn't really the State of Vermont's State Fair , it's just called that. It's always been called that, and no one has objected, so it continues to be the State Fair . In a couple of weeks it will be time for the World's Fair up in Tunbridge. These fairs are traditional in style, going back more years than anyone will admit . I guess Vermont used to get a little giddy when something to do ambled along.

Here's that show...



The following day, I managed to get to a local fair in the village of Guilford, just south of Brattleboro and just north of the Massachusetts state line. It's a newer event, only having been around for 73 years. Just the same, it's what the kids of a few years ago were calling "old school".

As I still don't have a car, a friend drove me down in the late afternoon, which was quite delightful as most of the day's crowd had gone. To be fair (no pun), there was a big event going on down the road where there was a 50th anniversary celebration of the organ at the barn where the Friends of Music at Guilford perform. Or something like that... At any rate, the field used for dog shows and classic car displays was already empty as we parked - closer to the fairgrounds than I have ever managed to get in the past.

 The first thing I like to do, aside from listening to the performers at the little pavilion set up for them, is to go through the old display hall where the agricultural judging was held and the winners are displayed in all their glory.  Just outside the door were a few items that I'd never noticed before. Now how can any day on which one turns 65 and gets to see not one, but two blue ribbon winning bales of hay be bad?

As one wanders out of that building, one can easily wander over to the booth selling giant plates of French fries. Now that I'm 65, I was finally given the Senior discount for my admission ticket. The plate of French fries cost more! The lovely thing about the booth with the fries is that it overlooks the ring for the horse show and pulling contests. Sadly, they were packing up when I got there.

 Just up on a ridge is the midway, which this year had more rides than I have ever seen there.

After walking one side of the Midway, there's a barn where the livestock is judged and on display.
There is also a very popular sheep shearing demonstration a couple of times a day.



After doubling back through the Midway, one reemerges into the area where the food and sales booths are located. There is a moment to take one last look at the French fry tent.

 It was a little odd to visit the fair after most of the crowd had left for the day. (It's a two day affair.) (No pun.) I didn't get to see the woodcarving with chainsaws, nor the tractor pulls, eve the sheep shearing was ending when I got there.  But there was still something quite wonderful about it all, even though the Guilford Fair, unlike the State Fair, doesn't have pig races. Ah, well.

Sorry about not getting the shows posted in a timely manner.
As usual, I hope anyone kind enough to listen enjoys them.

Once more unto the breech, dear friends...

There still seems to be little to no time to write. Or arrange and caption photos. I think of Springsteen's line, "The poets down here don't do nothin' at all, they sit back and let it all be." But I'm not in Jungleland , and all  the use of the quote does is prove that I'm good with a quote or two.

Life has taken on its old familiar satirical nightmarish absurd quality again. I will turn 65 soon. The Federal government insists that my excellent state health insurance program, which uses funds from the Federal program Medicaid, is no longer adequate as I'm now officially a "senior". Therefore, I am being removed from my current insurance and placed on Medicare. Specifically Medicare Parts I and II. They didn't ask, I had no choice. For this service, my Social Security check will have a deduction  of over a hundred dollars taken from it, beginning with this month (August), even though I won't be on Medicare until September. Parts I and II do not include a prescription plan, so I have had to sign up with another insurance company for coverage of some of my prescriptions. For another $26 or so dollars a month, two of my prescriptions which would otherwise cost me over $300 dollars a month each, will suddenly and magically be available without a co-pay. But wait - this new coverage won't cover all of my prescriptions. The answer? Re-apply for my state's Medicaid program (as in the one I'm already on). If I'm lucky enough to be accepted, then those last remaining uncovered prescriptions will be covered. For now. Until the next change. If I'm accepted. Plus, there are various programs that will help me afford to live by assisting with the amount Social Security is automatically deducting from my paycheck. If I'm lucky enough to get back on them - that's right - they are the program I'm on until the end of the month. If I'm fortunate enough to get back on the program, they will send the over $100.00 a month charge to Social Security, which will then issue me a refund. I will then send a check for that amount to the state to repay them. I'm not making this up.

There is a Federal program for help in affording the Medicare, but my Social Security income is $5.00 or so a month over the limit. If I keep all of my receipts from my co-pays, I might get the Federal program to help me afford the Federal Program.

I had help in figuring all of this out by following the recommendations of the State Medicaid representatives, and consulted with the Council on the Aging. Except that the Council on the Aging no longer exists. It is now called Senior Solutions, thank you very much. That took another 10 minutes to figure out that I had indeed called the right number. All of these organizations seem to have several different names - it's like a Russian novel.

The State Medicaid program, meanwhile, which has changed its name every couple of years, offered to send me various necessary paperwork to get back on the program I'm already on. I accepted and waited. And waited. Over two and a half weeks later, I got an envelope from another organization, which I thought was associated with the insurance I used to have at my last job. I didn't open it for several days as I was fairly busy. Turns out, it was the long awaited paperwork. Now, for the old state program I was on, all the forms can be filled out and submitted online. Not these. One of them can be filled out online, but then it must be printed out and mailed.

It's a system that seems designed to drive one mad. I suppose they are hoping I will become so confused I won't look crossing the street, or will simply end my life out of confusion and despair. The paperwork, as life slows down, speeds up and increases. And the best part? The annual  "window" for decisions on healthcare companies will open again in October. According to these folks, at that point, I'll get to do all of this over again! I can hardly wait.

Here's my show from last Saturday.
It is not designed to drive one mad.
After playing a couple for Count Basie's birthday, the old Philco tuned in August the 18th, 1942.
I hope any listeners enjoy the show.

Do Nothing till You Hear From Me

It seems I still can't find the time to fit in a decent post. Can we go for indecent (ba-da-dumb)?

Here's last Saturday's radio show...  which took brief note of a few birthdays before using the old Philco to tune in August 1943 for a broadcast by Duke Ellington from New York City's Hurricane Club.  The broadcast, on August the 14th, featured singer Al Hibbler, whose birthday was August the 16th. In the broadcast, Hibbler gave the first public performance of the lyric (written for him) for "Do Nothing till You Hear From Me", which had been introduced as an instrumental few months earlier. As such, it was a reworked version of Ellington's "Concerto for Cootie".

Duke Ellington with singer Al Hibbler.

As always, I hope any listeners enjoy...

Gosh, but it's been busy.

I've started a couple of posts, only to abandon them when various and sundry emergencies at the radio station, or with life in general, encouraged me to temporarily put them aside. There are now two weeks of my radio show which haven't been posted here. Tonight will add a third. As I find this totally unacceptable, I'm just going to post the shows, and will have to get back to stories of Solar Hill, my garden, and rambles around both another time.

First, the show from the 1st - in which, noticing that August had arrived - August! - a moderate sense of panic encouraged thoughts of grasping what was left of summer. There were dreams of getting in that vacation - kept more or less local, of course.



The program from August the 8th visited the first two weeks of August 1945, ending on the date that used to be noted on the calendar as "VJ Day", August the 14th.



I do hope any readers I may have left (family members, friends 'from away') will excuse me for not having gotten these posted sooner. My humble apologies. I hope folks enjoy these shows. Thanks!
    

It's July

It was 20 years ago this past May that I gave up my life in the cities and moved to Brattleboro, Vermont. I'm not one of those people who doesn't expect or want things to change. Change is necessary. Things evolve. The human species may be devolving, but that is another story, or another blog.  (By which I don't mean a different blog - the thing I mean is a different blog entry. Sorry for the clarification, but following the most recent style of usage is, to my mind, unclear.  But then so is much of life these days.) It should not, however, be assumed that I approve of some of the changes that have occurred over these last two decades. Not that my approval is required, or, for that matter desired.

As I garden, I am somewhat familiar with the changing patterns of the weather. As I've aged, I find that I now have difficulties with high heat and humidity. Twenty years ago,  June was paradise. July began to get warm; the last two weeks would have temperatures in the 90 degree Fahreneight category (and up) accompanied by high humidity.  Some sanity would be restored in August. These last few years, it gets hot by early May, humid by early June, and stays uncomfortable until late September. Plants flower at different times now. There always was a bit of variance, but every year the differences have expanded and grown.

 I now find it difficult to work in the garden in direct sunlight as it gets towards noon. I'm fine in cloudy weather - well, as long as the temperature isn't up into the 90's, or the humidity so bad that I wonder if our species will evolve gills. (Like the old days?) I don't think my reactions are entirely due to changes brought on by the aging process. No, it's hotter in the sun. The more delicate flowers don't last as long as they once did. The intensity of the sun has increased. This morning, taking a photo or two of the garden resulted in becoming immediately drenched in perspiration to such extent that even items in my pockets were soaked through. If there were still handkerchiefs, I'd have had to wring mine out before using it to wipe my brow. And that was a little after 8am with a temperature in the upper 70's and with a cloud cover.

The thing of it is, even if the climate wasn't changing, mid to late July would be an uncomfortable
mess. There is something in this weather that is mean. Everyone gets cranky. And one can't blame them. And then there are those of us who don't have air-conditioning... so, during last night's radio program, I found that the tuner on the old Philco was acting up. Maybe it's a tube. Maybe it's the humidity. What can I say? It's July.