Medical (Mis)Treatment

We love to talk about freedoms and liberties in America. We fight for it, we love our freedom, we cherish it, it’s our highest ideal and wish death on whomever attempts to threaten its existence. But man, I never feel more deprived of this freedom than when I attempt a very routine visit to the doctor’s office, in this day and age!

Now, I have been a patient pretty much all my life. I know, we all have been, at some point, but I mean, I have been forced to be a conscientious, very loyal and regular one. And trust me, I am no hypochondriac nor do I get great enjoyment out of it. I go out of necessity. So, you may call me jaded, also – go ahead. I still want to say a few things about our medical (mal)practice.

Lately, it’s more restrictive to go to the doctor’s than it is to fly, which is hard to believe some days. Every time you go in the office, there some new restriction. And while some restrictions are meant for your safety and accuracy of service (like, fast before labs, wear no jewelry before you go under, wear tennis shoes on the treadmill, etc), others are complete bogus infringements to your time, honor and wallet. Complete disrespect for you, as a patient, or as a human being.

You have to provide an insurance card for every visit - why?- if there were no changes from the visit from yesterday, I am not sure; you have to provide a photo id, or else you’ll not be seen. I wonder how many people impersonate someone else, and know exactly the name of the doctor to see, the time to be there, the name and date of birth of the patient meant to be seen. Hhmm …

We’re so afraid the governmental health insurance plan will be “too bureaucratic”?? Are you kidding me? Our very own doctor’s office has bureaucracy down pat! Think of all the forms you fill every year, over and over again! The amount of data they have on you: everything from your address, social security number, credit card account, names of the closest people to you, and their phone number and these have nothing to do with details on your body and your health and condition!

And how about all those copies of all those insurance cards, about 20 times every year?? All that paper trail in a day and age when we’re all paranoid about stealing identity and saving everything encoded and password protected on computers so it won’t be accessible by human eyes?!

Then, on every wall inside all the little waiting rooms you’re a prisoner in, signs warn you vehemently: “Don’t call us for the lab results. We’ll call you. In two weeks”, “We will charge you anywhere from $35 to $55 for each form you need us to fill out” – and then, they have the gall to tell you why: “because insurance companies don’t reimburse the cost”. It’s all about the bottom line, isn’t it??

And that brings me to the other issue: I feel blood sucked and robbed blind every time I walk in there – and that’s to put it mildly. I would invoke violent sexual acts here, but class keeps me from doing so.

If I hear one more person telling me “well, doctors have to pay those huge student loans, so, that’s why they charge so much” I am going to puke! Ppphhhlleeeaaasee, people! Do they also have to live in million dollar homes? And go on a Mediterranean cruise every summer? And marry their only daughter at The Biltmore? And drive BMW’s and have several vacation homes?! I am sure they don’t have to do all those things, but well, they do. I don’t see them living in regular folk condos and shopping at Wal-Mart to pay the loans they got themselves into, willingly, either. And I am not saying all this because I am jealous, God no! But somewhere, there has to be some justice and some middle ground between people losing all they’ve got to get healthy and people providing healthcare and getting ever so richer that it’s blinding to the rest of us. I know capitalism isn’t a fair structure, but the gap is widening every single year. It’s hopeless!

And I don’t know about you, but I have a problem with paying the same amount of money to see a Harvard educated specialist and his Nurse Practitioner! Practitioner or not, she is a nurse! I am sure their “student loans” don’t compare! They can’t, possibly!

And that brings me to the next point, of the quality of care. In the heated and very actual debate of governmental health care system we’re witnessing today, we all hear about “the quality of American healthcare”. We pay the buck, but we’ve got the best! Again, if someone tells me that one more time, I’ll regurgitate!

Let me give you just a for instance from a recent visit. I meet with my general doctor for my six month follow-up. I get about 15 minutes every 6 months of his very expensive time, to look at my recent blood tests, and send me to some more specialists in search for a cure. No, he doesn’t provide the cure, he directs. 15 minutes.

So, this last time: he’s in the room, after 30 minutes of me waiting, of course, for about 2 minutes, while the phone on the wall rings. And … he answers it. It turns out, someone from the hospital paged him, so he can answer a question about a patient of his who is admitted. So, I am on the fence: I am not sure whether to be mad, that he’s using MY time to answer another call, or happy, that he actually cares about his most sick patients and doesn’t send their calls into voice mails, and answers them right away. Still a little uncomfortable. When he’s finished with the call, he doesn’t remember what I was saying, and picks up another train of thought, completely unrelated.

Now, I am mad.

I reiterate, and he nods, and approves. And doesn’t say much. When, I notice he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a black “genuine leather”, black case. While I am talking about, oh, unimportant things like my heart, my overall health, my lack of sleep, and lack of appetite, he’s fumbling to open the case and he does open it: it turns our his IPhone vibrated just then, and he has to look at it. And he doesn’t answer it, but he scrolls and reads an email or a text message on it, while chuckling to himself. (!!!??????!!!!). I am talking. He stopped acknowledging.

Finally, he changes directions and topics on me.

Now, I am madder!

And at the end, off he ships me to the specialist! Gets from me (+the insurance) his fee for his New York taxi on his trip for Thanksgiving, and off I go. And this is a doctor that was recommended to me by another doctor I like, as being “a good listener”!! I rest my case.

Another example of “pristine” health-care comes from a nurse. She coaches me for an approaching test, and she tells me I need to stop my medication before the test for 48 hours before the test, evidently because that’s what the manual for the test tells her. I assure her that this is not possible: the medicine comes from the pharmacy with a big, red label telling me I cannot skip dosages, not even ONE, and if I do, I have to head to the first pharmacy for a dose, or contact my doctor immediately, or else I am in trouble. She swears to me that’s what I need to do: stop it cold for 48 hours! Then, she “gets caught” by the doctor that she misinformed me, and calls me back: “well, because your dose is so high, and you need it in order to function, stop it for 24 hours at the most and take it immediately after 24 hours – don’t skip more”. Well, thank you for not killing me there, Ms. Nurse! Much obliged. I wonder what would have happened if that doctor was distracted for a moment by the phone email … Fortunately, he was the specialist, without an IPhone! It’s all the luck of the draw, isn’t it?!

I could write books (as in plural) about misinformation from the doctor’s office – everywhere I have been in two states. Tests done uselessly, just to get the money: why is a pregnancy test necessary or else the visit doesn’t continue, when you have not had sex in a year, pray tell? So, I am not believing one iota of this “amazingly qualitative American healthcare”. I can’t. Because in 11 years, I have not seen it. I have lived the non-quality, superficiality, and abuse of it, yes. Every visit provides that!

I am not saying that all doctors are like that. And that all practices are like that. I have met honest to God doctors who care about the patients, and will do anything for their wellbeing. Doctors who love what they do more than the mansion they live in. I have had a doctor, here in America, that risked being fired and was brought to face the Board of Directors because she was seeing me for free, while I had no insurance and had a very severe condition that needed treatment. She was supplying me with samples of the medicines I needed to be able to survive. The two doctors I most respect for their attention to their patient and for their love of the trade, quit working for a regular practice and are now working for Health Serve. So, because I am not homeless, I can’t see them anymore! But those are the doctors I bow towards and respect. Not the ones with the villa in Palermo! And unfortunately, those are fewer and fewer, and regular practices the general public has access to have them as extreme rarities. I can myself count three out of probably 50 I have seen in 11 years. That’s not much!

And this was also not meant to bash all the American doctors. I know for a fact Canadian, and German and Romanian doctors have their faults too. But they were not the topic here. For the sake of (some kind of ) brevity, I have addressed here solely my experience with American doctors. After all, those are the ones most of you are more familiar with.

And just our own American comedian tells us, “just for once I want to tell the doctor: you know what: "I am not ready for you, yet!” Now, that would make it fair, don’t you think! That would make it equal, fair and free for all. But it’s not the way it is, unfortunately!

And for some comic relief in (what I see as) a desperate predicament, enjoy the video and remember: “there is a little bit of arrogance in the medical community, I think we could all live without…”.

Who Needs a Comedy Club?

Three notes on observing people on a mid-week day off …

Maybe it’s because my parents never did it, or because they strongly discouraged it as rude and inferior behavior; or maybe it’s because I have too good of an opinion of myself and I am mortified if someone would do this to me, but it really bugs me when people admonish or pettily pick on their kids, partners, friends, or employees in public! I think, just like my parents do, that this is rude and uncalled for. Everyone, no matter how big their faults, has a pride and an ego. Only “things” don’t have pride nor ego. People do! To make a point out of trashing that ego means lack of respect and inability to find class in your own public persona. Means cowardice. And weakness, in my book. At any rate, you would not get my respect if you do it. There is no respect to be given where respect is lacking on your part.

But I digress.

So, I have a new bagel lady. And she is really lucky I absolutely love bagels and her store is ever so close to my house, because otherwise I would have stopped shopping there a while back! It’s always uncomfortable when I go in. She yells at all her employees, in a rude, and loud tone, although they all seem fine and respectful to her, the job and the customers.

So, today, I walk in and there is a new guy behind the counter. She is running the cash register, and helping two other customers, while he’s trying to make my bagel. I know he is new, and I can tell he is nervous. Big guy, his gloves don’t fit – makes me go “Aaawww. Poor thing!”. I ask him how he is, and he answers politely: “I am great! Just great! I have never had a bad day in my life! I am always fantastic!”. I am dubious.

She’s running the other two orders and screaming (and I mean “scream”) from across the room at my guy: “Josh, what is the young lady having?!”. I have not even told HIM what I am having, since he’s not ready yet. And why she would need to know before she takes care of the other two customers she has on her own hands, is beyond me… He ignores her.

She bellows: “JOSH, I said …!!!!! $4.50 for a refill, Sir. Oh, you want a dozen bagels too?! JOSH, you hear me???”. Forget about the fact that she’s interrupting her own customers who are trying to check out, she is more worried about Josh knowing what my order is going to be. He is trying to pay attention to me, and my order and I commend him for it.

I order, I walk to the cash register, shaking, almost, and she switches her attention to me. She is one of those people who walk into a room and completely fill it to the brim with her own emotional weight! She is loud, completely unaware of her own boundaries, and bossy. That last one is a polite understatement on my part.

She keeps shaking her head talking to herself loud enough that anyone can hear, appalled that “Josh” is ignoring her when she is asking him what “the young lady” is having. As if “the young lady” was deaf and mute ?!?

So, I say, pointing at my sandwich: “cream cheese sandwich, please.” Now, she is plowing into my emotional space:

“What do you want to drink, hon?”

“Nothing, thank you”.

“Oh” – she doesn’t look at me. Just raises eyebrow. “Really??”

“Really”, I say with a grin.

I hold my money out, when I see the price on the register.

“You want a bag for that?”
”No, thank you”.

“Oh” – shakes her head, looking at the register, again, not at me.

“You want your receipt for $2.50?”

“No”

She finally looks at me:

“You want me to shut up?”

I smile and don’t answer.

She laughs and answers her own question, looking at me finally: “Yeah, I guess you do!”

I put my change in my wallet as she is yelling at Josh again: “I cannot believe you absolutely ignored me while I was asking you what she wants. I mean, goddammit, what the hell is wrong with you, Josh?!”.

I guess he was getting ready to have the very first bad day of his life, I thought.

I had to go to my attorney’s office today, for this and that. The legal assistant is another one of those folks who just explode in a room. Heart on her sleeve, no secrets – this woman is. Your brain is on instant freeze around her – she’s that fast and loud, and … random. Her cell phone goes off, and she answers it, as I wait for the lawyer to see me at my appointed time.

I can tell it’s an emergency, as her voice starts raising more than usual (and trust me, that’s hard to picture, as her voice came raised from birth …), and her eyes start popping with “Oh, my Lord! Oh, honey, calm down! Oh, let me get him in here …”- in the fastest and thickest drawl you have ever heard.

Attorney comes in, as she’s telling him, almost out of breath (reminds me of Aunt Pitty in Gone with The Wind, asking for “her salts” whenever anything exciting happened): “Oh, it’s my friend, Wendy! The police officer is there to arrest her. He said she ain’t paid the court fees! But we paid them. A while back”. She hands the phone to the attorney. He goes into his office with it against his ear, while she’s fretting and looking for the receipt to prove to the officer that Wendy has paid her court fees.

I hear the lawyer say, politely: “Good day, officer. Officer, this was settled a while back, and we have the receipt from the Court House that we paid …” and his voice disappears in the office … The assistant is telling me about Wendy’s legal trouble and how lame the justice system is, and how “they cain’t keep track of nothin’”, and he comes back in the room, handing the phone to her: “Hey, Wendy is being wanted downtown for a hit and run, that’s why she’s being arrested. I know nothing about that. Here you go”. And hands the phone to her. She is quiet for about half of a second, which is an eternity for her – trust me! And then she tries to explain it to me while grabbing the phone from him and trying to appease Wendy.

But I stopped listening, and I follow the attorney into his office. He’s shaking his head: “It’s always somethin’!”.

I believe him.

At the post office today. Long line. The funny man, the postal worker, is there today. He is like a stand up comedian! Every time he is in there, there is not one straight face in the room! Sometimes, you might not be in the mood for lame jokes, but if you’re in there for more than 5 minutes, he will say something to at least make your frown go away for a second! You cannot help it. He’s helpful, fast and funny. Very, very funny! Kids and old people adore him, mostly. But other folks, too. I’d pay some days to be there a whole shift to listen to him! Talk about a man who’s never seen a bad day! Either that, or he can fake it well.

So, today was a busy day, for some reason, so I was there for about 10 minutes. A mom comes in to pick up her mail at the mail box, which is at the other end from the room with the registers, but her 7-8 or so year old son comes in the room with the postal workers and the line, JUST to say hello to the funny man. And the conversation goes as follows, which made my day, for some reason.

“Psst! Hi, Ralph! Just saying hey!” (the kid says, in almost a whisper)

“Oh, hey, hi, there, buddy! How’s school going?”

“Horrible! I am not learning anything.” – the kid says promptly, with a bored blink and a hand gesture to indicate lack of absolute everything, while hugging a couple of books to his chest.

After an unusual moment of silence from Ralph, who always, and I mean always has the right answers, he goes:

“Well, you’ve got to stop knowing more than the teacher, bud!”

“Yeah, I guess! Good to see you, man!” – the kid walks away with a shrug.

Sometimes, I just adore kids! As for grownups, well … again: you be the judge!

What’s That?!

falling leaves

hide the path
so quietly (John Bailey - Autumn, A Haiku Year)

Someone’s tripped over the buckets of paint up in the sky again, and they spilled them. All, on the trees, painting them red and yellow, and rust and orange and purple…

Half of the town is dressed in orange – and some of the kitchens. Pumpkin pie, and dips and frosting on the cupcakes for yesterday’s parties.

Smiley orange faces are grinning from lit porches, awaiting laughing and carefree children.

What’s that, I wonder? That spot, on the skin, right above my shoulder blade?! Oh, a dry patch! Must apply moisturizer to whole body again. A (not so) friendly reminder …

Touching the grocery cart and opening your car door reminds you with a jump - literally: metal things shock fake fiber sweaters. They must be …

The nose gets cold when mornings open the doors to a new week. Must grab a jacket. Brr! – that chill in the air.

The Produce section at the store reeks of fresh, ripe muscadines. Fresh new cider is pouring in wine glasses at wineries.

The yard is finally quiet. The outside A/C unit is silent. Gas bill is up.

Headlights shine in the night on wind chasing large oak leaves like stray, hurried cats, into a run to nowhere.

It’s snowing leaves again. All over town. It’s windy. Quiet. Melancholy.

The dimmer switch is on again. The light in the afternoons is softer, ever so quiet and silky. Not sharp anymore. “The sun has lost its gusto” – mom says.

The cats sleep in again. They cuddle.

The swish in the trees is back. And nightfall comes faster. Time for soup and warm biscuits again. And all the harvest candles to be brought up from closets.

It’s fall. Another year’s getting ready to pass into yesterday …

Click on the picture for more Greensboro fall pictures

Nostalgia

As a reminder for all days, good or bad, I have a clipping from a magazine on my fridge that reads as such: “Do not hope for a better past”. And I try, every day, to remember that. And along with the past that we cannot control, I also try to remind myself not to hope for a better “whatever it is we cannot control now ” anymore. But that second self- imposed reminder seems to elude me. Every day …And I keep wishing. And hoping. And dreaming …

But as the song goes … I or maybe the world seem(s) to be “out of aces”, lately, and I am left with the dreaming.

I wish for a day when work is easier and more fulfilling. When people make sense, finally, in the office building, and their demands are not just swayed by a falling economy and a shrinking industry. Or by their own frustrations that they cannot make a difference in a decaying world.

I wish for a day when I can actually get myself to believe that it will be better for us, newspapers, banks, textile industries, real estate people, etc. I wish for a day when benefits are given where they’re due and as they’re promised, not snatched away. A day with health insurance for all, and without nickling and diming everything we touch …

A day where work is more than a job and a means to pay the bills. A day where it’s not an insult to your intelligence nor personality to work for someone.

A day when more is more. And less is less! And they don’t cross each other.

I wish for a day where people won’t complain about the cost of daycare, rising gas prices and utilities bills. I dream for that day to come back where people used to go to Europe in the summer as the “cheaper alternative”.

I dream of a time where we were not thinking of the small, family-owned diner in the corner as “pricey”. A time when McDonalds was just plain cheap, not just “cheap if you ordered from the dollar menu”.

I dream of a time when people are actually looking forward to Christmas, when Christmas is indeed the brightest light of the calendar year, and not some other obligation that comes with another year of debt.

I wish for a time when they made movies like Gone with the Wind and Love Story. When they actually made art, and not filled up two hours (or more) with people simply moving across the screen looking pretty and waiting for the millions (of dollars) to drop while uttering lame lines.

I dream back of a time where I got a paper card for my birthday and a letter from my best friend – not a text. Nor an email. I wish we lived again in the age (you remember that??) where people wrote in full sentences, with full, dictionary searchable words, and not just acronyms and abbreviations!

I dream back of the time when we all read. And listened. And not just watched.

I wonder back of the time when cars only went 50 miles an hour. And the speed limit was 20 miles an hour in downtown.

A time when people didn’t drop like flies because of heart attacks! Nor cancers … When people ate tomatoes grown in their back yards, as a mainstream. And really knew how to make orchids re-bloom.

I wish for a day when people go out in the park to look at changing leaves, and someone doesn’t come out to

ask “why”.

After all, The Phillies are in the World Series two consecutive years in a row, so why is all this other stuff so unbelievable?? Just joking …

I wish for a time when people wrote truly timeless lyrics like the ones below, that inspired and moved you to your core, that opened the listener’s eyes to a life lesson and made them shiver with simplicity - not so much uncomplicated eloquence these days indeed, in our music.

As June Carter used to say, to paraphrase: lyrics that mattered:

“You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table.
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealin's done.”

(Kenny Roger’s The Gambler )

But, alas, I am a dreamer! And on and on my mind goes …

Although it would do me a great deal of good to stop dreaming for a better … uncontrollable present.

I wish for a life with more meaning. Just as much as purpose. For everyone.

Apple Strudel

If you’re supposed to have a green thumb for being a good gardener, then I think I have two of those. But if you’re supposed to have … oh, let’s say … a white thumb for being a good baker, I have two black ones!

I can cook till the cows come home. I think. I am not as good as my dad, of course, or mom, not as good as an Iron Chef, on TV, but let’s just say it’ll be tough for anyone to starve at my place! But I cannot bake. I even tried those cans of dough where everything comes prepared, and all you have to do is follow directions about the heat and the time in the oven, and I cannot even bake those! I either burn everything (most common) or everything is raw, if it involves dough.

It seems like the Good Fairies forgot to put that in my mix upon my conception . That is very strange, too, because everyone in my family is a cook and a baker. Mom makes pies and cakes every weekend. My sister makes her own crème brule and her own birthday cakes, too. My mom’s mother made everything: Easter and Christmas pound cake, with walnuts and cocoa, the best apple pies and apple strudel that I have had in my life, the best puff pastries ever! Not me. I cannot bake to save my life. I waste ingredients! I should be restrained when I attempt it. It’s a disaster …

But every once in a while, maybe once a year, I become brave and attempt baking. This weekend’s been cold and dreary and I had some leftover apples in my fridge, from my nephew who would not eat them. I do not eat apples. But I love apple-made stuff. Go figure!

So, I bought some puff pastry dough, and thinking of my grandma and asking her for guidance, I threw the apples in the food processor, mixed some vanilla extract and sugar in with some lemon juice, and make this paste … Filled the dough with the paste, smeared everything with melted low fat butter and put that in the oven.

Of course, the directions failed me again: 350 degrees for 30 minutes rendered my strudel raw. So, I watched it like a hawk for the next 15 more minutes, and it turned out beautiful! Now, I am waiting for the cool down so that I can slice it … My grandma used to use confectioner’s sugar on top of it, but you know me and sweets: we don’t mix. So, I will just eat it as is, with coffee in the morning …

I cannot wait! It looks like there is nothing but pure delicious flakiness and freshness in there!

Flaky perfection! Yum! (if I say so myself)

I am just shocked that it looks done and it’s not burnt. Not even the bottom! It smells delicious in here. Today is the day when I should show my house for selling. Anyone would buy it smelling like this! It smells like Christmas, like home, like happy memories.

This is definitely a first success! I have never made anything edible with dough! I think my grandma’s spirit visited this weekend, on her birthday, and took care of my oven!

Happy birthday, grandma, and … thank you!

A Convert, a Common Passion, a Great Find

To my best friend, my travel buddy, my love and my partner … Thank you for the journey. Always.

It’s not the first time when you hear I love wine. I love drinking it, smelling it, I love watching grapes grow, and learning about all wines. I grew up where people make their own wines like you make your own pies – it’s just routine.

My boyfriend, Aa., can take it or leave it, for the most part. Whereas I passionately drive long distances in search of the next sweet wine, he is comfortable with what he knows he likes, and that’s not much, I’d say, judgingly.

Saturday was being forecasted as rainy and gray and no good. So, it was not open to much outdoors gaming, and I planned a visit to a winery or two instead. It was a risky endeavor, since as I told you, his passion is not wine. To be cooped up in a car driving to get tipsy on wine tasting is definitely not his idea of passing the time. But … I ran across the perfect compromise (thank you, Google!).

I googled “NC wineries map” and I came up with a couple of wineries that are not too far from Greensboro – and as any wine drinker knows, that’s not too hard to find.

This way, I found one winery I knew he would absolutely flip for! It’s Autumn Creek Vineyards , in Mayodan.

Autumn Creek Vineyards tasting room

Both Aa. and I are log cabin people. We love wood, the smell of it, the fibers, and structures, we would inhale it, if it were possible. Autumn Creek was the most amazing “a-ha” moment of the year for me, when I saw their website: not only is their tasting room built in a log cabin, but they have several cabins for rent on their property. And we both have been looking for log cabins for rent around here, lately.

They all looked well built and the surroundings looked pristine: woodsy, wild, untouched, and just beautiful!

The place is even more amazing experienced first hand. It’s hidden, and there are no highway signs, but they do a great job with the website: good directions, and inviting pictures, to call your name. Once you know the address and you tell your GPS, it is not hard to find, but don’t expect to just roam about the countryside and run into it. It’s tucked away! As the wine “coach” said “if you get lost in these parts, you might could find it”.

The place is really, really an oasis of beauty and simpleness. These people didn’t skimp on anything when they came up with this cabins-in-the-woods-and-wine idea! Everything is well done and well made. Real wood, real bark, real stone, real fixtures. The inside is a mixture of rustic and comfort. Solid wood walls shelter the stainless steel appliances and leather couches.

The buildings complement the surroundings, and not violate them: the woods, and the pastures, the old tobacco barns and the dirt roads, the red Carolina clay. The wine has the North Carolina Muscadine presence through it, full of flavor and body, but it will appeal to dryer palates, as well. The people working there were friendly and knowledgeable, not pushy, but welcoming and helpful. And honest.

Aa. is typically harder to impress than me, but he was taken by the easiness and uncomplicated beauty of it all, as well. We visited a couple of the cabins, and kept making plans for our future home. I was floored when he bought two, not one, of the Mayo River White Muscadine bottles. And I giggled inside when he picked a sweeter rather than a dryer wine. This shall be a good match, after all.

I had brought him up there nervously, hoping he won’t hate it, but his enthusiasm about the way the place was built and managed, as well as about the wine was surprising and welcome.

Later in the day, we took a countryside ride, towards another winery of the Yadkin Valley – Shelton Vineyards. I loved their Riesling ever since I ordered it at Printworks Bistro in Greensboro, so I have wanted to visit them ever since. Turns out that their Riesling is their best selling wine. Shelton, by contrast, is a big business affair, with a wine store and three distinct wine bars for tastings. We took a winery tour and did the sweet wine tasting (of course!), and walked about the property that had a craft show and a bluegrass concert on the menu that day, also. In other words: a perfect North Carolina day, clouds and drops of rain and what not …

The way the whole (wine) world should function: keep the reds and the whites separate, folks!

Shelton Vineyards tasting bars

It turns out an impromptu planned day trip is not ever wasted arrangement. We came back with wine, pictures, memories, plans for the future, and ideas on how that future will be built. Literally. Not bad for a rainy, fall day, after all.

PS: Thank you, Aa., for your always good eye in shooting some of these pictures.

A Long Short Week

I have needed and craved a vacation for some time now, and when I do finally get it, it’s never enough. Never enough to do everything I want, never enough to spend plenty of time with people I love, never enough to rest.

This week, I have spent some time anywhere between the Ocean and the trails of North Carolina with two of my favorite people in the whole world: my sister and my nephew.

We had a packed schedule, to ensure lots of fun was had and lots of sights were seen. We also had a very cranky and restless 17 month old on our hands who made sure we were on our toes the entire time …

If his style was cramped because his routine of playtime-nap-food-playtime was off, he made sure ours was also. But through it all, cries, and screams, kicks and punches, poopy diapers and abused cats, scraped knees and bruised face and fingers, sleepless nights and missed meals, we had a week to remember for sure!

We loved climbing the trails at Stone Mountain, getting him acquainted with the big blue ocean for the first time, sharing chicken fingers on the docks of Cape Fear River in Wilmington, shopping everywhere possible (it seemed) in Greensboro, Carolina Beach and Wilmington, climbing up slides and playgrounds in town, seeing the fish and wildlife at the NC Aquarium in Fort Fisher, even playing at The Children’s Museum.

Through it all, with as many challenges as this week’s had, I kept thinking how grateful and blessed I am that I have had ONE week with them. This time will never come back. He will never be 17 months old and confused about the world ever again, like he is now. He will not speak like he speaks now, in baby-ise for long. And he will not need his apples and mangoes all meshed up to eat them for long either …

I loved it all, as exhausted and drained as I feel. Thank you for the visit, little man! You have taught me a ton this week: Like you can make a receiver with your hand and pretend you’re speaking to someone you miss dearly (like your dad), or that it doesn’t matter that your chin is dirty and your pants are wet, nor does it matter whether you’re sitting in a fancy blue chair or on the kitchen floor – as long as you’re feeling good and having fun. You also have taught me that my cats really do have more patience than I was giving them credit for!

I miss you already, although you’re still here, napping upstairs.

Thank the skies for a wonderful weather week, also! It's been perfect all around.

All of us, on Carolina Beach, NC
(click on the picture for all the shots from this trip)

Disgruntled: A Day Full of Hatred

Note: for the weak hearted: no, “hatred” is not too strong of a word!

I am not quite sure what will take for airlines to get they crap together? For someone to miss a really important world summit where they’re voting against blowing up the whole world because of their delays? Or for someone to miss a surgery that could save their lives? Or … for what??

Can we sue these people for emotional distress, if they cause us to miss our parents’ funerals? Our siblings weddings and christenings?! Can we?? ‘ Cause, boy, am I ready!

I am hardly one of those people who wants to sue somebody left and right, but I swear to you: airlines should learn a thing or two about customer service from Third World countries they’re so bad! And I come from such a country! To make people wait for a flight for a whole day or more should be illegal. Sure, you can redirect them! But did they ever think about the fact that sometimes people pick a certain connection for a reason? Or a certain amount of layover? Or a direct flight?! A certain reason which is personal and cannot be toyed with!

If I go to David’s Bridal Shop and I want a white wedding gown, they cannot possibly force me to buy a pink one, just because they don’t have white ones on stock. They will order me a white one! You can order a custom car. A custom house. A custom dinner. Not so with a flight! At the flight, you beg at the Almighty Gate of the Airlines!

Maybe someone hates a certain airport, because of the poor layout and organization which has caused them to miss several flights before (like I am with IAD, which, in Romanian spells HELL), or maybe someone has a baby, and a stroller to go with the baby, and a carry-on, and wants a direct flight because they don’t feel like running through airports with a 20 minute layover with all that baggage! Maybe … Just a thought!

But to think of people’s needs would actually mean that you’re thinking of people – which I am convinced airlines are not in the business of! They are in the business of moving bodies (at best) while making the most money with the least resources (I know: the tune of the times). All that at the cost of the consumer’s respect, nerves, and patience. Sometimes, even health! Because, as a buddy of mine would say “they’ve got us by the b^lls”! We will travel. We will use them. This country is so darn big that we have no choice! So, they don’t care.

Things are different in other places. I know, I have seen it on my own, and my family has experienced it plenty! All my relatives live abroad, in various countries, but they all dread dealing with any American airlines! They don’t mind anyone else in the world, but any American airline you pick has left a bitter taste in their mouths at some point in time! They all dread coming to visit because they loathe what they have to put up with: crowded airports and planes, delays over delays, cancellations, poor service, poor or no food or drinks, crappy connections, and the list goes on.

It is really sad when you think we teach others what civilization is all about in this world! We should, as always, start in our own back yard, don’t you think??? Back in school, “Transportation” was a chapter in the study of the geography of a country. It was the chapter that showed how advanced that country was: if you had roadways, train tracks, how many airports, etc – it showed how advanced you were. And if you built your airports, the customer service was sort of implied. But the slow functioning of American airports, and most often the non functioning leaves me wondering: how advanced we really are?!

And just on a personally bitchy note. Or maybe two. When a plane has a “technical problem” because of which it cannot take off, please cancel the darn thing and rebook the people! Do not post it as delayed for a whole entire day, or even half of a day for that matter! If it takes you that long to fix it, you think it’s a good thing to fly it?! And for the life of me why you cannot find another aircraft for that flight, if you are truly trying to delay it and not cancel it, violates, again, all the logics rules in my book!

And secondly, you, flight status websites out there trying to post the correct information on every flight in the world – I thank you for the intention, but honestly, if it goes past an hour, a delay should be posted in hours not minutes! You risk someone who’s already PO’ed because they’re not seeing their family to hate you, because now, they have to do math too! Seriously people: 765 minutes???? This is a flight. Not the Thanksgiving turkey!

I know: who’s listening, right?!?

The "only minutes away" delay at a certain website ...

A Walk in the Park

Not many words today.

It's a quiet, and cool Sunday, one of those days where you smell fall in the air, from far, far away, but it's not quite here ... It's still being shy. One of those lazy Sundays, where most people are not on the roads, nor on the trails, but judging by the 10 cars in front of every house, they're probably in watching a game, drowning into a Keg and eating chicken wings... Hhmm ... chicken wings ...

One of those days...

And since I had no plans, my camera asked to be taken out. Ducks are always friendly, somewhere, and so are squirrels, I found.

Just click on the picture and see what you missed at Country Park this afternoon.

Happy new week!

The Dog That Always Smiled

Once upon a time, some far, far away time … I used to be terrified of dogs. I am not sure how all that started, because my dad worked with animals all his life and raised us amongst them. We didn’t have pets, but we were around his work animals, and our family’s animals, in the mountains.

And yet, there was something about not being able to relate to dogs, that scared me. Maybe it was that one time in sixth grade when Tarzan, dad’s German shepherd snuck up on me, behind a bush in the darkness that startled me for life?! I don’t know what it was … really. But I could not be left alone with an unleashed dog till about seven years ago, no matter how tame the dog was promised to be, or how small.

Seven years ago, I met two dogs that changed my life. One of them died yesterday. And I wanted to take a moment to be grateful to Ms. Molly, for her generosity and patience with me.

The dogs that changed my life: the stoic Ms. Molly and
the ever inquisitive Dakota, the beagle

After J. became my boyfriend seven years back, it took something like 6 months (I think) until he built up the courage to introduce me to his dog. To say about his dog that he is a rambunctious beagle is to utter the understatement of the year! Knowing my fear of dogs then, J. didn’t trust Dakota to be around me. But he introduced me to his parents’ dog, Molly, first. He kept warning his parents to keep Molly away from me, and he kept telling me she is big and loud but she is a mush. I was dubious! “Big dog” to me, meant trouble. Definitely not “mush”.

I met Molly on a rainy spring afternoon. She was indeed big and absolutely gorgeous! I don’t remember her barking at me. I remember her smile and her whole body wag. Most dogs wag their tails in happiness and content. She shook her whole body and her tail. She was pure white, with dark, beady, black eyes. The corners of her mouth and her eyes looked drawn back, as if she was smiling.

I had brought her treats, and her mother, J.’s mom, assured me that she will forever be my friend, as “the way to Molly’s heart is always through her stomach”. Isn’t that the truth with all dogs?!

Over the years, she was always there, as part of the family, of course. She was just a mere presence. She was never needy nor bothersome, or if she was, she was not when I was around. She was so stoic. Always still and patient, as if she knew a bigger truth than life, but she had no way of sharing it.

Little by little, by watching her, I started understanding her body language and I started trusting her more. She was almost always calm, polite, waiting her turn to speak and to be fed, waiting patiently to go outside. Even not leashed, she never strayed far away from home.

She loved water and was the heart of lake parties, tirelessly bringing back balls her parents would throw in the water for her. She was at our feet when we opened Christmas presents, and under the table, when we ate our barbeque. She was mindful of other pets, even the neurotic, rambunctious Dakota, of her live-in step sister, Annie, the cat, and children. She was the easiest dog to be around. All she needed was a bowl of water, a cookie and some food. She had so much love to give.

Her parents suspected that she might have been mistreated in her previous household, because she was a bit defensive against guys in caps, and when you hid something behind your back from her. A bit untrusting. But her deep, short bark told you she’s not happy. But for the most part, when she was not just seated, in her meditative gaze, her whole body was wagging with joy, and her face always bore a smile.

And thus she taught me that dogs are not indeed killer machines, but just faithful companions of all creatures. I have always thought she made a house into a home: to this day, when I think of a perfect home, I picture a big, white dog just like Ms. Molly snoozing in front of the fire place. Me?! The dog non-lover! Want a dog in a home to make it perfect!

Age related weakness and diseases took her away. But as I always say: pets never die. They’re forever, and when time comes, they just move out. And wait for us, patiently. Somewhere we can’t just visit.

I thank you, Ms. Molly, for teaching me your love and allowing me into your life. You were such a precious gift to me, and to everyone who knew you. I hope you are pain free and smiling somewhere, and your all body wag will never stop.

I miss you, and you’ll always have a place in my heart, in the very corner reserved for doggies only, which appeared within me about seven years ago, when we met.

I could have never given you what you gave me – a new, happy, fuller, joyful life. But I can promise you I will always love you.

Happier and healthier times (2005):
Ms. Molly loving the water

Life Is Good

Grateful for simple things, on a Sunday morning.

I have always dreamed about this. Since living in the communist flats for years, back home, crammed, and airless, sharing in smells of stopped up toilets, burst pipes, stray cat urine and moldy walls from the 100 close neighbors, my whole family dreamed of a time when we can sit outside, and have our coffee in the morning, in the fresh air, and just listen to the breeze, the birds and the city noises, and just recharge, and cleanse our souls.

I remember my parents visiting their friends who owned houses and backyards, and no matter how cold or rainy it was outside, they always wanted to sit on the patio, in the back, to have dinner. We all craved air. Wide, open, fresh, air. We wanted to feel the breeze and see the sky! We hated walls!

My parents own a huge house with a beautiful yard now, and unless it’s pouring outside, they spend about 90% of their home time in their yard and on their patio in the warm seasons. The craving for air never stopped with them. And they’ve worked all their lives to own a yard, more than to own a house, really!

I am saying this with torn happiness and melancholy in my heart, as I am sitting on my very own patio, in the shade, looking at my tomatoes, dill and roses, and sipping my coffee this morning. I hear birds, cicadas, lawn mowers, an occasional car, and planes …

I have privacy, fresh air, and an open space to call my own. It’s a dream come true, in home ownership! I am so fortunate: mom and dad waited till they were in their late 40’s to own a yard. I have had mine, in various incarnations, since I was in my mid 20’s!

And as much as I enjoy working in my yard, and seeing things grow, and eating a fresh fruit or two, that’s never been the reason why I wanted to have a yard! The reason was a yearning for freedom, mostly: to own a place where I can be outside, and listen to nature, and feel peaceful and simply content. A place close to home, where I can be part of something bigger than me, where I can just escape, and slow down, and take in the events of a week, and give myself a pep talk that life is not all that sour after all, where there are blue skies, and hours to kill, and cardinals perched on pickets, and cool, fresh, crisp smells of clean air. A place where time stands still and there is no rushing towards the next chore. A place where nature floods in. A place with no walls.

Life’s good, I tell you! I only wish mom and dad would be here to share this with me. I know, though, that no matter what physicality we’re in, we’re together in our hearts. After all, they have planted the dream of my own back yard deeply into my heart. It’s because of them that I love and understand this simple peace. And when I enjoy this, they’re with me. Forever.

Far Away, So Close. A Weekend Blog

At one time in my life, my idea of happiness was to run away from civilization and buy several acres of bare land in Montana (yes, I was specific about the state), with a run down, fixer up log cabin on it, and just live off of potatoes and corn. If corn makes it up there. If not, woods berries and mushrooms would do!

As I have lived in the middle of booming and Yankee invaded North Carolina for the past 11 years or so, I have learned that no matter how much I love my “me” time, and my mountains, I love human contact, various cuisines, shopping centers, libraries, and the ocean just as much! Variety is the key word!

I say this as I am thinking of a very blissful weekend that just passed. My sweetie and I have explored anything from sushi on Tate Street in the UNCG Campus, to the trails of Stone Mountain, from The Mellow Mushroom pizza, in Downtown Greensboro, to the two immense stories of great Swedish finds at Ikea, and the Swedish meatballs, of course, in Charlotte, from the kitchen stores at Friendly Shopping Center to the delicious fried pickles at The Penguin Drive-in in the Queen City.

The proximity to both larger cities and the mountains from Greensboro, along with the never ending gift that Greensboro itself is, are such conveniences on weekends like these: with many days to fill and no specific plans!

There is always something to do, socially, sure, like standup shows, and plays and bands to see, or a newly open food joint in our hopping downtown, but the independently planned play time is what both me and my guy favor! And we never seem to be lacking ideas on how to comfortably fill our weekends!

I might be too tired to travel and explore new cities and foods and trails on 85 degree hot summer days in 75% humidity, one day. Maybe I will prefer the coolness of Montana or Colorado remoteness from the world, at some point in my life. But not in the near future!

No pictures of Ikea nor of the sushi, but for the rest, visit The Labor Day album, and make plans (hopefully) to visit your neighborhood!