Wordless Wednesday

The Apple

While waiting in line at the WPI orientation barbecue, a woman standing next to us remarked how the Young One and I look like twins. We smiled politely and when she went ahead, we just looked at each other and shook our heads. Other than height and color of our eyes, we don't look a thing alike. The Young One has fair skin, a sprinkling of cinnamon freckles across her nose, and auburn hair. My skin tone is swarthy Italian. My hair is dark brown bordering on black with a fair amount of silver, and I don't have freckles across the bridge of my nose. The Young One is a carbon copy of Himself. The Young One and I do enjoy some of the same activities. Art, movies, electronics, sense of humor

"You don't look a thing like me." We laughed.

"No, but I have your soul."

"Poor you."

"No, poor you. It means that Grandma's curse that you would have one just like you came true."

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

OMG!

OMG! Auntie Rose called this morning, and I missed the call. The Witch didn't leave a voicemail.

Hey Good Lookin'. Whatcha Got Cookin'

I get calls from Dad at least once a day. The calls fall into two categories: I'm Lonely and I Need a Buddy or Complaints. I've been getting complaint calls all this week. Most of the complaints have gone like this:



"You know Himself took me shopping last week. I spent $250.00 on food."

"Yup."

"Well, I haven't had a meal since we brought the food in."

"What do you mean you haven't had a meal?"

"She hasn't cooked! Not a thing!"

"And your arms and legs are broken so you can't make yourself something to eat?"

I tried to explain to Dad that Ma isn't going to make home-made raviolis ever again. Cooking is one of the activities that's beyond her. She doesn't have good control over her hands. I reminded him how often she drops things: silverware, cups, papers.

"It's dangerous for her to try to cook. Moving hot pans about."


"What am I supposed to do?" his voice rose with frustration.

"You have a few choices."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, you either pay to have someone come in to cook." I know this won't be an option as he also rides Ma's I'm Not Paying Train. "You can have meals on wheels brought in, which would be cheaper on your grocery bill in the long run."

"No, I'm not doing  meals on wheels. The food is garbage."

"And you know this because you've eaten it?"

"No, but it's garbage." What he means is it's not Italian. No home-made gravy. No home-made ravioli, eggplant Parmagiana, no braciole.

"Then your only option, besides starving, is to take over the cooking."

At this point in the conversation, Popeye could be heard grumbling. "Cooking is woman's work..."

"Well, if you don't want to starve, cooking better become man's work."

Sorry Wrong Number

If I am going to be out of the house for more than an hour, I transfer the home telephone calls to my cell phone. While running errands, a call came through. Dad. Since Dad's calls tend to be 43 minutes or longer, I told him I would call him back.

(Note: this is an interactive blog. Click on the links. You will need to use your browser's back button to continue reading the blog.)

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ma. It's me. How are you?"

"Eh." ( similar to "meh", not the Canadian "eh")

"Dad called me while I was out. Is he in?"

"Yes." And she began shrieking his name until he picked up the extension.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad. It's me. What's up?"

There was a long pause as if he was listening to something.

"I just wanted to know when my doctor appointment is this week."

"Your appointment is...."

"When?"

"Thursday."

"Is that you huffing?" Dad asked. He was clearly irritated. I could tell he wanted to talk to me. Mostly to vent about Ma, but he was leery.

"Me? No."

"Who is it then?"

"I think it's Darth Mater"

Tax Season

Helping Dad fill out the tax form.

"What do you put down for your occupation?"

"Retired"

"And Ma?"

"Shrew"

Charming Elderly Couple.

Saw this on a friend's Facebook page.

Elderly Couple of 62 Years

by Sydney Schatz (videos)

1:14

An elderly couple walked into the lobby of the Mayo Clinic for a checkup and spotted a piano. They've been married for 62 years and he'll be 90 this year.

Check out this impromptu performance. We are only as old as we feel, it's all attitude. Enjoy! They certainly do

Sadly, these are not my weebles.

Business Calls

Ma recently changed banks. Dad said he would call social security to notify them of the change. I was able to find the phone number for her union office. Dad said he would call them too.

After a week, the calls hadn't been made. I wasn't sure if he just didn't want to be bothered or if it was his way of paying Ma back for all her griping. She wouldn't make the calls herself. And he wasn't going to call. A catch-22.

A friend told me, he was probably confused by the automated answering menu. Maybe. I found myself making phone calls and chasing down paper work for direct deposit of her social security check and pension check. I had her sit by the telephone with me so I could hand the phone to her so she could verify her identity. These people don't want to talk to me. The Privacy Act is good and bad.

I was relaying my irritation to Himself. Ma for all her claims to be Ms. Independent is very dependent. There really is no reason she can't make these calls herself.

"I don't like to talk on the telephone," I mimicked in Ma's whiny voice. "I don't know what to say."

She might not like to talk on the telephone, but she has no qualms about picking up the phone and making calls to Auntie Rose's buddies in ^#$^# * Jamaica!

The Telephone

The telephone in Ma's room while she vacationed in the hospital, was a modern wonder. No longer the bulky desk phone that would crash to the floor when the patient went to answer the phone. The telephone was just a sleek handset. There was a round earpiece that tapered to the mic like a lollipop shape. A light flashed on the handset to let one know a call was coming in. Press the flashing light and the call is connected. The handset also controlled the bed and the television.

I was heading to the hospital for a visit and decided to call to see if there was anything Ma wanted me to bring. I also wanted to let the Happy Wanderer know I would take him home after I visited with Ma.

The telephone rang a couple of times and I heard Dad answer though his voice sounded far away.

"Hello?"

"Hello..."

"Hello? Hello?"

"Dad? DAD! It's me!"

I could hear Ma in the background faintly ask "Who is it?"

"I don't know. There's no one there."

"DAD! DAD IT's ME!"

Click.

I tried again.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad, it's..."

"Hello? Hello? There's no one..."

"DAD! It's ME. DON'T HANG..."

Click.

"Damn it!"

Dad must have been holding the handset upside down with the mic to his ear and the rounded part near his mouth. I could hear him, albeit faintly, so he must have pressed the flashing light.

From the sun room came the sound of laughter. No, not laughter. Chortling. Himself was comfortably ensconced in his lounge chair, feet up, and he was dying of laughter.

The phone converstation with Dad, or rather the lack of a conversation had annoyed me. I didn't want to get up to the hospital to find Ma wanted a certain nightgown, or lotion, or any number of things I could have easily picked up as I sailed by their house on the way to the hospital. I did not find Himself's guffawing the least bit endearing.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Oh," Himself wiped tears from his eyes. "It was such a classic routine! The timing was perfect. You really should take that act on the road."

"I just live to amuse you."

How do You Spell Stress?

W-E-E-B-L-E-S

Man Posts Parents for Sale on Craigslist

Man posts parents for sale on Craigslist. Maybe he's onto something. Nuff said.

Doctor's Visit

Thursday was the follow up appointment to check Ma's thyroid levels. She had zoned out while we waited in the waiting room. The Doc helped me rouse Ma.

I was invited into the examination room so I could hear what was going on. Blood levels good. Blood pressure excellent.

Ma asked whether she had to take that pill twice a day. That pill is a 1,000 IU Vitamin D. She had asked me a few days earlier about the dosage. I told her one tablet would be fine. The doctor concurred with me.

"I'll write down a list of the medications your grandma is taking," said the Doc.

"Excuse me, but I'm her daughter, not her granddaughter."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the Doc as if he had grievously offended me.

"No worries. I'm flattered."

The Doc grabbed a pad of paper and in his crabbed doc handwriting began making a list of medications and dosages Ma is supposed to take. I tried not to make a "tsk" sound at his appalling penmanship.

"There. Well, is it my imagination or does Ma seem less sleepy?" asked the Doc with a large grin on his face.

Hello! You had to help me rouse Ma when it was her turn for the examination!

"It's your imagination," I said smiling politely.

Ah Ha

Three Stooges fans, Himself and I had enjoyed the clip from The Three Little Pirates. Himself was passing through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.

"Ma ha?"

"Ah ha."

We continued with the routine and burst into a gale of laughter. At this time, The Young One happened by.

She gave me a side-long look. "Scary," she said.

"I'm scary? You don't know scary. Wait until I'm 90. I've seen my future."

Himself's voice floated out from the bathroom. "It's not pretty."

Alien Thinking

From time to time, I pop into Caring.com a blog devoted to elder care. I always hope for a magic answer to dealing with elders, but so far, nothing. A month or so ago someone posted a question how do I help my mother stay less stressed while caring for my father? A reverse of my weeble situation so I went to take a look.

Look into ways you can simplify the number of things she's responsible for. Make sure she's using automated payment systems for household bills wherever possible, for example. Arrange for yard care, housecleaning, or online delivery of groceries.

Was this supposed to be a head slapping moment? Why didn't I think of this? Peapod, for gawd's sake, it's so simple! And then I thought what planet does this woman live on? My weebles certainly aren't going to pay for yard care, house cleaning and though I have begged and begged grocery delivery is out of the question.

Consider an elder-care companion, someone who can spend time with your dad a few hours a week to give your mom a chance to get out of the house

The author makes this sound like the service is free. My weebles certainly wouldn't pay to have a stranger come into the house to "rob them blind." As it is, there are men roaming all over the yard, and a man and woman building a room over the garage.

Though the suggestions are reasonable, I think the author hasn't dealt with elder care or is dealing with young elders. Baby boomers who may find these suggestions appealing. She certainly doesn't seem to be dealing with elders from the depression and WWII generation. The author missed the main point of OPD is control. All the suggestions above take control away from someone. She certainly isn't dealing with elders like my weebles who are resistant to change and can become mule stubborn at the drop of a hat.

I'd like to know what planet she's on. Might decide to move there.

In the Year 2032

During Easter dinner, Dad made an announcement.

"Y'know, I used to say I wanted to live until the year 2013, but I'm asking for an extension. I want to live until the year 2032" This would make Dad 113 years old.

With my fork poised to jam into my mouth, I said, "Yeah, but I won't be taking you to the Mahket then."

Hip

With the bathroom renovation in full swing, severe winter weather, and low Weeble finances, I've had a reprieve from trips to the Mahket. I've called a few times to see how the Weeble larder was faring. Surely, by now, they must have gone through those 20 loaves of bread and 24 cans of beets. They were managing. Though there was an underlying hint "just barely".

"You know," I said to Ma, "If you're desperate I can call in an order to Peapod to get you by."

There was dead silence on the other end of the phone.

"Auntie uses Peapod. Her son said she loves it."

"I might try that."

I might try that said in the same tone as I might push glass shards in my eyes.

The remodel came to a halt as we wait for the shower panels and tile to be delivered. I called on the spur of the moment to see if a trip to the Mahket was needed.

"Your Cousin came for a visit. You should have seen the groceries she brought us, but we could use a few things."

No good deed goes unpunished.

The Young One was on vacation from school and I bribed her to come along. We'd stop on the way home for Lahdidahs (Starbuck's fancy beverages).

The Weebles were excited to be going to their favorite haunt.

"We don't need much."

Excited about the excursion and not needing much, they had a two page shopping list. I suppose the outing is as much as a sporting event and diversion as well as the hunt for sustenance.

Mid-month and the store was blissfully not crowded. I offloaded the Weebles, told the Young One to take Ma's walker as soon as she was seated in her scooter, and I'd be back to retrieve the walker as soon as I parked the car.

When I got back from stowing the walker, I found Ma with the scooter basket filled with five loaves of bread. Dad was standing in line at the courtesy booth with his 30 cent can chit for the state bottle return.

Ma headed down the dairy aisle. I don't take them shopping for two months and our well oiled shopping plan is deteriorating into pinball. I mumbled to the Young One.

As Dad came puttering with his empty carriage, I offloaded goods from Ma's basket to his and tried to redirect them to our plan. Ma does Meat and Produce. Dad handles Dairy and the aisles. No go. This way and that. Ma decided she needed fish. Of course, what else goes with five loaves of bread?

After getting the frozen fish, I'm able to herd Ma towards Meat and to get Dad into the aisles. I'm to stand in the Deli line to get some cold cuts.

"Your staying for lunch."

"That didn't sound like she was asking," said the Young One.

"She wasn't."

She wasn't asking. She's my mother. She says "jump" and I ask "How high?" Be sure to stay with Ma," I admonished The Young One as Ma zoomed toward the meats. "She's like a toddler and will disappear in a blink if you don't keep your eye on her. Got your phone?"

We formulated a plan to call each other on our cellphones should we become lost. While waiting in the deli, I'm thinking I should up the phone plan and phones to include push to talk. That could prove useful.

Done at the Deli I find the Young One pawing through one of the meat cases. She looks at me and shakes her head.

"She wants Italian Sweet Sausage, but it has to have fennel and it has to be a small package," I told her.

We rummaged through the case. Two acolytes presenting candidates for the blessing.

Down the rest of the meat case. Ma paused to look at T-bone steaks.

"The meat is brown," the Young One whispers with a horrified look on her face.

"Try not to think about and thank God Daddy doesn't do his shopping here. Never has. Never will."

The Young One breathed a sigh of relief.

We finally made our way to Produce. Ma spotted a sign for greenhouse tomatoes for 99 cents a pound. She sent the Young One and I to get a couple of packages.

There are a half a dozen women at the bin. As I made my way over, I could see several packages had blighted tomatoes in them and one was oozing penicillin.

"Ma, these are all rotted!"

I might as well have shouted "Lepers!" because the entire produce department emptied.

Dad joined us as we were rounding the bin to see another sign. Roma tomatoes 99 cents a pound.

"I want the plum tomatoes."

I pulled a plastic bag, and Dad grabbed my arm.

"Make sure they are solid!"

Two months ago, the last time I had taken them shopping, Ma had commented Dad wasn't happy with the produce I picked. Said it was all touched. Something was touched alright. I had told him while unloading the groceries he had two choices. He could shop at a store that had higher quality produce or he could pick his own damn tomatoes.

I shoved the plastic bag in his hands.

"Here! Pick your own."

Ma wanted apples. I searched through the 3 pound bags of MacIntosh apples she likes. Every bag had severely bruised apples and one bag was reduced to applesauce.

"The bags are all rotten!"

"What about the pick your own? Are they the same price?"

I glanced over to an empty counter. Not a customer in sight. Just a bin piled high with large, red apples.

"Yes."

"Go get me three pounds."

Dad and the Young One headed off to the other end of the store.

"Keep your phone on!"

I was intently picking apples when Ma slammed the red scooter into me.

"Oh! Oh! Are you alright?" She asked as she backed up and then hit the forward accelerator.

Wham!

"It's alright, Ma. At 53, I should probably think about having that hip replaced anyway."

We finished up produce. Ma scooted over to frozen foods.

"I need some mixed vegetables." She stopped to peer into a refrigerator case.

I limped to the freezer where the frozen vegetables lived.

As I turned around, Ma careened around the corner and whacked a display stand of Planter's Peanuts. I dove to the floor, arms extended and made a miraculous save. Atlas preventing the Planter's world from being dashed to oblivion.

Dad and the Young One rounded the corner, but missed the event.

Ma was off down the aisle. Decided she didn't need anything else. She tried to turn around but a case of frozen fish blocked her way and she was stuck.

"Turn. Back up. Go forward. Turn." I issued commands from a safe distance. After 12 maneuvers I got her turned around. She scooted to the cashiers.

"I grabbed the Young One. C'mon. We get a 15 minute break while they go through the checkout."

We went to sit in the car. I glanced at my watch.

"You know, they only needed a few things, but it took longer on this trip than all the other trips I've done for the past two and a half years."

The Young One patted me on the back.

"Now I'll debate whether to go pick them up at the door or make them cross the parking lot to me. Punishment."

"Why are you punishing them."

"No reason. Pay back for making me come to this godforsaken place."

Ma was the first out of the store. She peered across the parking lot, panic on her face.

I sprinted out of the car and called to Ma. I'm not sure if for a split second she didn't recognize me. Then a grin and a look of relief.

"Here. I directed her along the side of the store. Park over here out of the way and I'll bring the car around."

I pulled up in the fire lane, got Ma settled in the car, and began unloading the bags out of the scooter. One of the bag boys came to take the scooter into the store.

We were waiting for Dad to come out when Ma began fumbling with her pockabook.

"Oh no. Oh no," she wailed.

"What's the matter?"

"I lost my gloves."

She was very distraught over the lost gloves. I had given her a coat and gloves for Christmas.

"Don't worry about it, Ma. It's just a pair of gloves."

"This happens because he rushes me. I think I must have left them at the checkout."

I turned to the Young One.

"Go in and see if you can find her gloves."

Dad came out pushing the carriage.

"What's the matter?"

"She thinks she lost her gloves inside. I'm sending the Young One in to see if she can spot them." I began loading bags into the cargo bay.

Dad followed the Young One.

Groceries loaded in the car, Ma and I sat parked in the fire lane. We waited, and waited, and waited. I was about to call the Young One's cellphone when I noticed it on the back seat of the car.

Soon Dad and the Young One came out of the store.

"There's Dad."

"Does he have my gloves?"

"I don't think so."

She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her pink argyle gloves.

"Here they are!"

I heard "grrrr" noises from the back seat.

Home again, home again. I was anxious to unload the groceries, wolf down a sandwich and make tracks.

Dad and I brought the bags in. Ma had the Young One in front of the sink washing all the fruits and vegetables before they were put in the refrigerator.

I sat in the living room, flipping through an old issue of Martha Stewart. An hour later, lunch was served. The Young One and I wolfed down a sandwich, waited a polite amount of time and announced we had to leave.

We stopped at the bookstore on the way home. Browsed and then stood in line for lahdidahs.

"I'll have a grande hot chai. May I have a shot of vanilla, please? So what happened to you and Grandpa when you were looking for her gloves? What did you do wander the entire store?"

"Yup. First the cashier. The lost and found. Dairy, deli, meat, produce."

I took a sip of the hot sweet liquid. "I so needed this."

"Me too," sighed The Young One. After all, I'm her weeble.

Mark My Words

The phone rang early this morning. Prissy.

"What's going on over there?"

"Over where?"

"Can't you see? At your neighbor's."

Prissy meant the Leaf Lady. I rolled my eyes. Prissy must be related to Gladys Kravitz.

"I don't watch what's going on over there."

"What are they doing?"

I realized this would go on for quite some time if I didn't answer to her satisfaction. I opened up the door and from the front porch I saw a tree service truck.

"She must be having the trees that came down during the storm taken care of."

"Can't she wait until Spring?"

I almost suggested to Prissy to call The Leafy Lady to ask her as The Leafy Lady does not confide in me.

We swapped some Leaf bashing. I had moved back to the kitchen and from the kitchen window I saw the tree service guy snow blowing a path. Yup, the Leaf Lady is definitely reta...missing a few tines on her rake. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit outside with a foot of snow on the ground and she's having trees removed.

Prissy hung up and I went about my business.

Around lunch time, I looked out the window to see what progress the tree guys had made to remove the pine branches. They were not working on the dead pine. I shouldn't have been surprised to see the tree guy sawing the limbs off of a viable, young tree. Sad. Another prefectly good tree murdered. By tree standards this tree is young not more than fifty years old.

On the way to pick up The Young One as I was getting into my car, the tree service guy gave me a cheery wave. I hope he's making good scratch on this job.

When we got home, a second tree had been delimbed and a third tree was tagged. These were not dead or dying trees. These were not trees that needed to be euthanized. These were vigorous trees.

This one woman is slowly denuding the forest that surrounds us. And with all tree life removed from her property, the next time she whines all my leaves are in her yard, I'll say "You're absolutely right!"

Mark my words. Some day the Ents will be coming to seek justice for the trees The Leafy Lady has murdered. It will be a terrible sight. I hope I live to see the day.

Needled

A couple of weeks after the December ice storm, we had some warmer temperatures and rain. Most of the snow was gone. I asked Lambie if her husband could come and remove the tree that had fallen in The Leaf Lady's yard. Since they heat their home by woodstove, they were welcome to the wood.

It snowed the night before they were supposed to come. I should have realized a little snow wouldn't keep these hardy Yankees away. Yankees as in those who can trace their lineage back to the Pilgrims that came over on the Mayflower.

Though the tree was large by my standards, it was not large by Lambie's DH. He didn't need help hauling logs to his truck. Lambie and I had a nice visit, a cup of tea and lovely pumpkin muffins Lambie made while her DH worked.

From time to time we watched his progress. He cut the tree and removed the lengths to my property, where he cut the wood into 4ft. logs. Then he carted the logs to his truck. In less than an hour he was done.

I received an email a day or two later from Lambie. DH wanted me to tell you, he was very careful not to harm a needle of The Leaf Lady's pine tree that had fallen in her yard.

The Leaf Lady

Another character in my pantheon of weebles is the woman who lives next door known as The Leaf Lady. When we first moved here, she spent nearly every part of her waking day raking leaves. I had taken The Eldest then 3 yrs old trick or treating to The Leaf Lady's house. This was in 1991 and the day after the No Name Hurricane (aka Perfect Storm). The Leaf Lady was furious with me because all my leaves had blown into her yard. She knew they were my leaves because I had use gold thread to embroider our monogram on all the leaves. After heated words, I left her house with The Eldest in tow. The Leaf Lady has not spoken to me since that time. The Eldest is now 20 yrs. old. The Leaf Lady shuns me. If she is outside and I go across the street to get the mail, she turns her back to me so she won't see me. Sometimes she scrambles so quickly into her home, I'm surprised she hasn't broken an ankle.

Sunday, Himself and I returned to our home to inspect the aftermath of an ice storm. A tree had fallen down in the corner of the backyard into The Leaf Lady's yard. We discovered to our great joy we had electricity. The day before with the help of the generator, Himself had gotten the sump pump and a couple of other smaller pumps up and running, happily gurgling out the five inches of water from the basement. The water had come up to the furnace and we were concerned the furnace would need to be replaced. While waiting for a call from our oil man, we were cleaning out things that had gotten damaged in the flood. Note to self: Even though items are stored in plastic bins and boxes, plastic bins and boxes float and upend in water. Add bricks to weight things down.

We had cleaned as much as we could. Hadn't heard from the oil man who was probably out straight. We were heading back to Himself's brother's home. Himself had gone out to start up the car. I heard his name called by The Leaf Lady. Her voice is loud, and irksome. (Yes, she irks me) She would have made a great fishmonger's wife. From the front porch, I could see Himself speaking to The Leaf Lady and her husband. I fought the urge to go shrieking out the front door like a banshee. A few minutes later Himself came in.

"What the hell did she want? I suppose she was griping about the tree in the backyard."

"Yes. I explained to them we knew about it, would take care of it, but were dealing with a wet basement. They were vey nice. The conversation was quite pleasant."

Himself is too kind. I would have questioned her mental faculties in tongues. She didn't so much as ask if we were alright, needed anything. Just had to control the situation and point out the tree had fallen. OPD at its finest.

Parts of the state were devastated with downed trees and power lines. Many towns still have no electricity and crews are working round the clock clearing downed trees and reconnecting wires. Does she honestly think we're going to call a tree service company to come out and take care of a tree that is lying in her back half acre? The tree is not on her walkway, not through her house, on her car or in an area where people need access and egress. No one will be available this week. Next week is Christmas and the following week New Year's. If she wants the tree removed quickly, perhaps I should call Jason to come take care of her.

Election Day

The plan was for me to show up early to take Ma and Dad to vote. It was an excellent plan. So good in fact, all the other Seniors thought of the same thing. They all showed up to vote at 10:30am.

The handicap slots were jammed. Ma entertained herself by screaming at me to "park over there." I dropped them off at the front of the building and then circled around and by a miracle a handicap slot was open and I slid neatly in and settled in to wait.

The Weebles had made it into the building when a very long line began to form out and around the building. There were so many fluffy white heads, it looked like Q-Tips had been arranged around the building. I have to give the Seniors credit for getting out to vote. Ma complained about having to go there pushing her walker, but there were lots of others that were in worse shape than Ma. Not only were they pushing walkers but hauling oxygen tanks. God bless them for making the effort.

The line kept getting longer and longer. I was reminded of the movie Logan's Run where people over 30 were called to attend Carousel, a cute euphemism for euthanasia. People kept going into the school, but none were coming out. I looked at my hand just in case my indicator was glowing red. I didn't hear the disembodied computer voice calling "Leo 28. Leo 28"

A van pulled into the handicap slot to my right and the driver got out and went into the building to vote.

A police officer was across the street from the school trying to prevent people from parking in the clearly marked No Parking area. One bright spark failed to listen and move his Jeep. I watched the officer write out a ticket and place it on the windshield. The gentleman was not happy when he came out from voting. He was about to say something to the officer, but the officer said, "You were warned."

All the handicap slots were filled when a woman pulled into the horseshoe driveway. The officer told her she had to move her car.

Since it was a warm day, I had the driver's window opened as did the elderly woman. She saw me sitting in the car.

"What's she waiting for?" she screamed at the police officer, but looked at me.

The officer started walking towards me, but stopped when he saw the handicap placcard prominently hanging from the rearview mirror. I was legally parked.

"She's waiting for her crippled mother to exercise her right to vote as guaranteed to her by the 19th amendment to the Constitution," I shouted through the open window. I refrained from sticking my tongue out at the woman. I also fought the urge to yell, "You have two choices. Either trawl the lot until a spot opens up or go home and come back later!"

The officer made a placating motion to her.

"It's a very busy morning here," he said. He moved a caution sawhorse so she could squeeze into a handicap slot.

About 10 minutes had elsapsed since the man in the van had parked and gone into the school to vote. I had been waiting in the car close to 20 minutes.

I got out of the car and hollered over.

"Excuse me, but did you vote already?"

"Yes."

"Where the hell are they?" I thought I had said this to myself.

"There are two precincts voting here and there's a really long line for precinct 7"

I thanked him and settled back to wait with a weary sigh.

The police officer's watch ended and as soon as his squad car left, not one but two elderly lady drivers came through the Do Not Enter end of the horseshoe. The clearly marked Do Not Enter end of the driveway. Yikes! Where was the police officer when he was really needed!

Finally, Ma and Dad came out. I got out of the car and waved so they would see me. Everyone got in the car. I very carefully backed out of the spot. The approach to the exit was clear. No blue haired ladies in sight. How do you spell relief?