RHODA'S EYES & Dingaling #2

As noted yesterday, we went to see Rhoda's opthalmologist to make an appointment for cataract surgery. He said that the cornea in her left eye is deteriorating; but we knew that because she has lost most of the sight in that eye. That is why it's very stressful to go through the same procedure on her other eye. However, the doctor said it has to be done, and so it shall, and hopefully, it will help her to read and see things much better than she does now. The surgery is scheduled for October 4. While I was in the waiting room with nothing good to read, I decided to call Mike H. (who played Pickering in My Fair Lady). However, I did not have his telephone number, so on my cell, I tried to remember a phone number whereby you could get free information. I thought it was 1 800 FREE 411, and that's what I dialed. After a couple of rings I heard this: "Hi, how are you honey? Just use your imagination. What would you like me to do? I can fulfill your wildest fantasy..., etc., etc." I decided that there was no way I was going to get Mike's number from her...and I had completely forgotten to bring any Viagra with me. I still went ahead with my plan to speak to Mike, so I just went ahead and dialed 411 and paid the damn $ or whatever. Turns out, Rhoda told me, that the number I should have dialed was 1 800 411 FREE! Go know.

Dingaling

I was very blissfully asleep about 9:30 a.m. when the phone rang only once, thanks to Rhoda picking it up immediately. So, I just drifted back to sleep when the phone rang once again, and she thankfully picked it up. So, I once more drifted back to sleep. Then it rang again...once, twice, three times...if I didn't pick it up the message machine would grab it. I wondered if Rhoda had fallen down and couldn't get up. Nine times out of ten, the call is for her, but now I wondered if it were for me from someone who read my book and wanted to tell me they couldn't put it down. It would be nice to hear some reactions from anyone...I mean ANYONE. Or maybe it was from someone offering me a job or a part in a show that I would delight in turning down. But no, it was for Rhoda. Now, I had to get out of bed to pick Rhoda up from the floor. Well, when I got to the den, she was playing solitaire on the computer. I said, "Didn't you hear the phone ring?" somewhat indignantly. Turns out she went down to the parking lot to speak to some City of Hope members about something or other. So, I dolefully turned away, went into the kitchen, swallowed a dozen or so pills, and picked up the sports page. Thankfully, the Marlins didn't lose for a change. Fact is, they didn't play.

Since, I have no idea what to eat for breakfast, I'm skipping it. I'm tired of Eggos. I don't eat cereal because of bad childhood experiences with it. I don't have a waffle maker, and making matzoh brei is too troublesome. Maybe I'll have a cup of coffee and an Oreo. Today's the day that Rhoda will be seeing her eye doctor to make arrangements for removing a cataract from her right eye. Her vision is deteriorating. It's very scary for her, because when she had cataract surgery on her left eye, all hell broke loose so to speak, because now she can only read large print books. The vision in her left eye is negligible. We certainly do not want a repeat of that on her other eye, but there is no option. The cataract must be removed. So, a date for this procedure has to be set. We'll be seeing the doctor at 2p.m. for that purpose.

In order to get reviews of my poetry, I've signed up at www.poets.com. There you can submit as many poems as you like and get them reviewed by other poets; but at the same time, you have to review some poems yourself. Besides verbal reviews and comments, poems are "rated"...like movies or hotels...I've submitted 11 poems and each has gotten *****. Besides being a famous unknown author, I'm now a famous unknown poet. Que sera, sera.

Adventures at the Mall

Today the cleaning crew was to come & so we had to clean up for the cleaning crew; put away the mess on the cocktail table. Clear off extraneous bottles, toothbrushes, paste, KY Jelly, medications, electric razor, and false teeth bath boxes in the bathrooms. Hide the candy jars, remote controls, DVDs, cashew nuts, non-pareils, and TV Guides in the living room. Cover the monitor by the computer so they wouldn't wash it with water and clear off all notes, pens, pencils, calendars, etc. from the den. Get the shoes, suspenders, t-shirts off the bedroom floor. Get the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher in the kitchen. and after all of this work, we might as well have continued to clean the house ourselves and save 40 bucks, making our sweat worthwhile. So, instead, we got into the car about 11:30 a.m when they usually show up and went off to the Town Center Mall.

I love to go "malling" with Rhoda mainly to watch the passing parade and the cornucopia of pretty and shapely young ladies carrying their purchases or wheeling their babies. I watch them not out of any erotic motive or lust. Those days have gone out to sea somewhere. It's just that the clothes they now wear, more than not, reveal lots of tanned and tattooed skin. The tattoos can take any shape and color and they appear anywear (spelling intentional) on their bodies; necks, backs, arms, legs, thighs, backs, buttocks (I imagine). But not only are their dress and decorations distinctive--but many have other parts of their bodies, besides their ears pierced and bejeweled. As a member of the old school--the greatest generation--I find this strange modernity amazing, sometimes repulsive, but always interesting.

Now, Rhoda's motive for malling was entirely different from mine. She bought things--imagine that! A baby's birthday gift, an Almani shirt for me, a yogurt for her and a New York Egg Cream for me. When we arrived back home, we discovered that we cleaned up for the cleaning ladies for no reason. They never showed up. So much for immigrants. Now I'm off to shower in order to clear my head of the day's images.

A Gordian Knot

I was supposed to play golf today, but when Rhoda woke me at 8am, I told her I just wasn't up to it. This summer I've only been playing once a week rather than 3-4 times for two reasons: The weather and my body. I can no longer tolerate the heat of the day, and secondly, walking from golf cart to the fairways or the greens and back again begins to take its toll on my body after 9 or 10 holes, and then the rest of the way is a struggle. It's not so much fun anymore. Besides, I don't play as well as I did say 3 or 4 years ago. I was a 7 handicap...which means I broke 80 most of the time. Now, I'm happy if I can break 90. It's not so much fun anymore. (Oh, did I mention that?)

Speaking of the body, we are scheduled for a Caribbean cruise in December, and since it's a bloody long walk from the bus to registration and then the ship, my wife has decided to request a wheelchair for me...otherwise it would take me an hour to get there! Now, at this point sitting in a wheelchair is not an option that I'm crazy about. Since I've seen both my parents in wheelchairs, it has become anathema to me. I just can't picture me--a marathoner--in a wheelchair. But at the same time, pain in my legs is also anathema to me...so how do I untie this Gordian Knot?

(The "Gordian Knot" is a legend associated with Alexander the Great. It is often used all over the world as a metaphor for an intractable problem. How the Knot got to be a knot is too long a story to retell here. Googleize it if you are curious. But the bottom line is that cutting the knot is solved by a bold stroke. Alexander the Great did it and became a King,)

Now since I am not as Great as Alexander, perhaps someone out there is...and so can tell me how to "cut the Gordian Knot"-- Walk to the ship or Wheelchair?

"Put money in thy purse..." (Othello I.3)

Imagine my surprise this morning when I opened the Sun-Sentinel to the editorial page and found my letter to the editor published in its entirety. If you'd like to read what was published you'll have to scroll down to the blog of August 26, "Bad Dog, Bad Dog"...unless, of course, you received an email about it. This is about the sixth letter I've had in that newspaper...every one of which I sent. They must like me. Anyway, I have to admit, it's really nice to see your name in the paper making me once again a "famous unknown author."

Yesterday, Labor Day, we and our neighbors, the Strumlaufs, spent the morning doing chores around our apartments and then at 2:30 we met down in the parking lot, and went on our merry way to "The Isle" casino in Pompano. This is a Las Vegas style casino with zillions of slot machines everywhere for one cent to five bucks. Lots of jingles and jangles and machine noises all around. There is a second floor with many poker tables, but no craps or blackjacks. Also two very pricey restaurants. Downstairs there is a really wonderful buffet where you can have lunch or dinner. I really didn't know how to go, but Lou and Annette said they did. I was told to get off at Atlantic Avenue. I said we were on Atlantic Avenue on our way to the Turnpike. "Oh," he said. "I meant, Atlantic Blvd." "Oh," I said, I don't think there is a southbound exit there." Annette (in the back seat) said, "Yes, Atlantic Blvd. And then you make a left to Powerline, and then a right at the light." Anway, Lou said there were "dozens" of signs along the way. I thought that was a huge exaggeration, and a hyperbole to boot. We saw one sign, and that said to get off at Exit 67. Exit 67 did not say Atlantic Blvd. so we just went right past it. Lou said, "I think we should have gotten off back there." I said, "Commercial Blvd. is next, we'll have to get off and make a U-Turn and go back North on the turnpike". So that's what we did...for an additional $.

Now, back on the turnpike we saw a sign saying Atlantic Blvd. Next Exit! I said, "I must get gas first, I'm down to the bottom," but Rhoda said if we stop for gas we'll miss the exis...I paid her no mind, so we stopped at the Plaza just before the exit road and I filled up. As we left the Plaza, we noticed that the Atlantic Blvd. exit was behind us. Oy! So we kept going and lo! Exit 67 came up and we finally made our way to the Casino and drove to the valet parking which was $6.

We decided to meet at the entrance at 5:45 and then drive to dinner somewhere. And so everyone went their own sweet way to lose our money, and that certainly was a putative result. We lost our money...Luckily we had enough left for our dinner. Decided we'd stop at a place we'd never been before called, "The Original Steak House and Sports Theater," right off Glades Rd. and the Tpk. Turned out to be the best move of the day. I had some Snow Crab legs and the other three losers had 7oz. filet mignons which they raved about. Also, we had a beautiful and friendly waitress. Then finally back to the condo where we played cards and chatted.

And so to bed.

"The Apparel oft Proclaims the Man" (Hamlet I.3)

I usually sleep to about 10:30-11:00, but today I had to get up about 8:30 because we had to be at a "surprise" breakfast buffet for a member of our Board of Directors who has retired from that onerous position. He's a guy with a prosthesis for one leg, and with whom I used to play golf. Apparently he rated this "party" because he did some Herculean work for our section during and after Hurricane Wilma. At the time I was most disappointed in his inability to stop the hurricane in the first place. Well, of course there was the usual food at the buffet; tiny bagels, cold scrambled eggs, greasy bacon, and strong coffee. I can't wait for our dinner tonite when I get to chomp on a turkey drumstick.

Rhoda and I sat at a table with three other couples, one of whom was on the "big" Board of Directors for the whole condominium in Huntington Lakes, not just our section. That gave me an opportunity to berate him for not relaxing the idiotic rule that no shorts could be worn in the clubhouse after 6 p.m. This has been the hottest summer I can recall in Florida, and at the very least, a resident ought to be able to wear shorts from July to November in the evening at the clubhouse whether or not they're playing cards, shooting pool, or playing ping pong. The no shorts rule is merely cosmetic and pretentious in order for residents "to look nice." In the humid evenings here, such a ban is not sensible. But when a group of guys get some power in power positions, then using that power in a manner not representative of the desires of their constituents is, of course, a putative practice a la George Bush and his cronies. Vote Democratic.