Posts Categorized: Patience

Before and After

| Patience, Peace

Oh, those compelling photos of the “Before” and “After” scenarios …

You know the ones:

The skinny guy who started working out and now is a buff, body-builder type.

The plain Jane lady who gets a make-over and is now lovely and confident.

The dilapidated house that is now a showplace.

The yard that was an overgrown jungle that is now beautifully landscaped.

And so on.

My photos are not quite as spectacular, but they’re making me smile.

I’ve mentioned the Caladiums, and how I planted the tubers too early and guys at a nursery (when I said I’d put them in the ground in mid-March) told me that they were most likely dead. But, then a couple of weeks later, one came up. Then, a week or so later, another one came up. I knew I had planted 15 tubers, so when there were 15 Caladiums, I thought that was it. That was not it. Apparently, one tuber can make quite a few Caladiums. I’ve been amazed and delighted and overwhelmed. When I counted this morning, there were almost 50 Caladiums. And, there are more little shoots.

(This from the Gardening Know How website: Blooming on caladium plants isn’t common, but tubers planted in favorable locations tend to produce small flowers. These inflorescences aren’t as impactful as a rose or dahlia but have their own charm and, sometimes, a strong pleasant scent. There are several schools of thought on what to do with caladium flowers. While some growers believe pinching them off helps force energy to the tubers, others leave the small blooms with no ill effect on the plant.)

They certainly don’t detract from the lovely leaves.

The whole Caladium experience has been worth the effort on that drizzly March day when I was slogging in that muddy space, trying to get those tubers in the ground in a sensible, well-planned effort that ended up with my strewing the things around and trying to get them covered with dirt (more like mud).

It’s turned out so much better than I thought it might (especially after the nursery guy told me they were all probably dead!

 

Meanwhile, there was the issue of that log I ran over a few weeks ago. Here’s a recap of the photos:

 

My friend came by one day last week, for a six-feet-away visit on my front porch. And she brought me …

this beautiful candle holder. Yes, indeed, that is the log–the log in the photo above.

And the woodworker included, on the base of the candle holder, something to remind us of its provenance. (The log was a piece of hackberry, in case you’re confused.)

 

 

 

 

 

I looked for a descriptive word for my experiences. “Catastrophe” is how I felt about them, but, really, that’s too strong. I went to “Thesaurus.com” and found the word “debacle,” which I like, but again, seems wrong. I’m going with the phrase “bad luck,” because it seems more reasonable. Not a catastrophe, or even a debacle. They were small things, in contrast to the larger, more egregious things that happen to other folks.

 

 

Let the sunrise of your love end our dark night. Break through our clouded dawn again! Only you can satisfy our hearts, filling us with songs of joy to the end of our days.

Psalm 90:14 (The Passion Translation)

 

If It’s Not *One* Thing . . .

| Patience

Recently, David came into the house and said that one of the giant springs had come off the garage door opener. And, hadn’t I noticed that?

Well, no, I hadn’t noticed that. In general, I get in my car, press the door opener remote, and drive out of the garage. When I’m in the driveway, I press the remote again and the door closes. I’m not actually looking down on the garage floor, and I don’t/didn’t notice any really large spring sitting on the concrete. David did notice it when he came into the garage’s open door when I wasn’t at home, and, therefore, that big ol’ spring was pretty was easy to see.

He said that the springs had been replaced really recently. One spring had popped off and the garage door guy said that if one was getting replaced, then both of them should be replaced. I guess so they could work in tandem. I looked in my files and found that, yes, the springs had been replaced in January, so I phoned the garage door opener people and explained what happened.

They came and asked if just one spring was replaced or both of them. I went in and got the receipt and showed them that, yes, two springs had been replaced. And, it had been in January. And they said that they’d put a spring on each side. Then they said . . .

We were living on borrowed time. The replacement springs were used springs, because our garage doors are obsolete. They don’t make that kind any more.

Modern garage door openers require garage doors that are louvered, having four horizontal panels that glide up, instead of our solid doors that glide up as one static piece. And, they said, the whole apparatus is higher up, closer to the ceiling of the garage. They looked up at that ceiling and said, “All that storage has got to go.”

And there is lots of storage. Years ago, my Dad and David created some rather crude (but quite sturdy) shelving that is suspended from the ceiling. After my parents were gone and my sister and I were emptying the house, we found all sorts of old boxes/stuff up there, including a doll’s crib and high chair that belonged to my mother, a doll buggy,  well-used by JoAnne, that had been stored in its original box, and an old potty chair that a friend of JoAnne’s wanted for her antique potty chair collection. (I am absolutely not making that up. She has an antique potty chair collection.)

 

When David and I moved into the house, those shelves got filled up again. As David and I peered up at the storage boxes, I said, “Are those our things up there?” We thought that a couple of items might be, but the bulk of the boxes are filled with things that our sons had been storing in our other house. Things that got moved and stored here. And now, while it’s not imminent, we’re looking at trying to empty up that ceiling space that will be needed for the modern, up-to-date type of garage doors and garage door openers.

It seems that, when the garage door opener company replaces old, obsolete garage door openers with the new-fangled kind, they retrieve any parts that still seem functional (like big ol’ springs) and keep them at hand, for the old fogey garage doors that are still around.

 

No one pours new wine into old wineskins. The new wine would swell and burst the old skins. Then the wine would be lost, and the skins would be ruined.

Luke 5:37 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I guess that putting old springs on old garage doors is somewhat all right. And, just as well, any new spring might just rip the door off its hinges.

Who’s That Woman in the Polka Dot Mask?

| Patience

Well, that would be me. It’s not really, exactly, a mask. It’s a make-shift mask, but it works well. I suppose.

I don’t like it, not one tiny, little bitty bit. It’s uncomfortable. It’s hot. I can’t see over the top edge. It gets damp. But I wear it.

Actually, I have two of them. Each of them is just as uncomfortable as the other.

Here’s how they get put together:

My system of disinfecting my masks is my iron. Because the fabric is cotton, it’s sturdy. I use the highest temperature on my iron, and I fill it with water and use the highest temperature of steam to kill germs as I iron. It’s very hot. When this is all over, I might make a pillow out of these squares. Or, maybe I’ll be so weary of these two pieces of fabric that I’ll just throw them away.

As a senior adult with underlying health issues, I think I ought to wear a mask. Did I mention that I don’t like it? I don’t. If I knew how much longer I need to do this, I’d be counting the days. I hope I live that long.

 

Haven’t I commanded you? Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.”

Joshua 1:9 (The Message translation)

 

There will come a day when we’ll all be sitting around saying stuff like:

“Remember when we were supposed to wear masks? Wherever we went?”

Remember when we didn’t go to church, but we had ‘virtual’ church, sitting at home and watching worship service on our computers?”

“Remember when kids had to finish the school year by having ZOOM class every week?”

“Remember when we were supposed to stay at least 6 feet away from each other?”

I’m sooooo looking forward to that day.

Old Friends (cue the orchestra)

| Joy, Love, Patience

Down the street from us, behind the elementary school at the end of the block, there’s a park. There’s playground equipment, swings and slides and climbing structures. There’s a splash pad, too, for warm weather. And there’s a track; folks run and walk on it, parents push their babies in strollers, Peter rides his scooter around the oval. And, scattered about, there are park benches.

The park bench by the splash pad, where people of ALL ages sit, sometimes.

 

A couple of years ago, Peter and I went to the park. As we walked toward the splash pad,  I noticed a couple of men, senior adults, sitting, with their backs toward us, one on a bench, the other in a wheelchair. And, instantly, a song popped into my ears.

Simon and Garfunkel are the musical voices of my young adulthood. At seeing those men, the song “Old Friends” began to play in my head, and I was really tempted to surreptitiously take their photograph. (But it seemed intrusive.)

Meanwhile, in my head: “Can you imagine us years from today . . . sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be seventy.” I kept on humming, as Peter scootered over to the slides.

And, now, the song is back, wending its way around my hours and my days, even when I’m nowhere near a park bench, quietly or otherwise.

I’ve just turned seventy. And strange doesn’t even begin to describe it. Turning fifty didn’t bother me. Sixty didn’t seem inappropriate. Seventy is, actually, strange.

For quite some time, one of my knees hurts. It’s not excruciating, but, sometimes, it’s uncomfortable. My fingers are taking on a life of their own, skewing, swelling, refusing to bend. And my stylist doesn’t need nearly as much time to cut my hair as she used to. There’s just not as much hair there.  I’m consistently turning the volume up, on the computer, the television, and my phone. (My sons’ mantra has become: “Get hearing aids!”)

“Seventy, thy name is OW!”

Of course, the reality is that not being 70 doesn’t mean being 50 or 60 again. Not being 70 means not being, at all. And, I’d rather postpone “not being, at all.”

 

Meanwhile, back in the late 60’s, I purchased both the record and the music for Simon and Garfunkel’s album Bookends, so I can enjoy the songs whenever I want to. Well, I can play the songs, assuming my fingers will cooperate.  I don’t have a way to play the record. But, that’s what iTunes is for, right?

 

 

 

Listen to Me, house of Jacob, all the remnant of the house of Israel, who have been sustained from the womb, carried along since birth. I will be the same until your old age, and I will bear you up when you turn gray. I have made you, and I will carry you; I will bear and save you.

Isaiah 46:3-4 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)

 

Thanks be to God.

A Few Degrees of Separation

| Patience

Several weeks ago, I wrote about a “six degrees of separation” incident, involving a some folks that knew someone who knew someone I knew.

I’ve come across another experience where one thing I was interested in turns out to be closely related to something that seemed, at the beginning, not related at all.

I read somewhere, lately, about a mystery novel that A. A. Milne wrote. We think of him primarily as the writer of the Winnie the Pooh books. Well, I supposed that not everyone thinks of A. A. Milne, in any way at all. But, really, you should.

Wikipedia describes this mystery novel (The Red House Mystery) as a “‘locked room’ whodunnit by A. A. Milne, published in 1922. It was Milne’s only mystery novel.”

That all sounded interesting to me, so I checked the book list at my local library and found that, yes, oh yes, they had a copy of that book. The book itself didn’t seem quite that old; I checked the copyright page which included the 1922 information as well as the 1950 renewal copyright. So, it’s an older book, but not a first edition.

I took it with me last Monday and Tuesday, to appointments at the retina center and at the ophthalmologist’s office. There’s much less waiting time at doctor’s offices these days, as they’re limiting how many folks can be sitting around in their waiting rooms, but there’s still time to read. The ophthalmologist’s nurse asked me what I was reading, and I explained that it was a mystery novel by the man who wrote the Winnie the Pooh books. A book for older readers. I said that, as a book written just a couple of years shy of a century ago, the style’s a little different, but it was interesting.

Then, just yesterday, I got a message that a Cloud Library book I’d requested was available. The title is Eight Perfect Murders. I started listening to it right away. The premise is that a mystery bookstore owner wrote a blog about the eight books that he regarded as each having a “perfect murder” described. He’s being interviewed by an FBI agent who is trying to solve a series of murders, and she sees some similarities between the books that the store owner has listed and the crimes that have been committed. He’s intrigued and begins to talk about each of the books he chose, beginning with (you saw this coming, right) The Red House Mystery, by A. A. Milne. “WHAT!?!?!’ A book I’d never heard of, ever, less than a week ago, is now part of an investigation that includes that book.

 

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.

Hebrews 13:2 (New Revised Standard Version)

 

Seems like a big leap, huh, from mysteries and books to hospitality. Maybe you’re a person who jumps easily into new situations. Maybe you’re a person who waits and analyzes and plans and thinks before starting anything different from the usual. Thinking about things is important. Thinking about things for such a long time that the opportunity passes and the opportunity is lost, is easy but not efficient. Looking for connections can strengthen connections (“I’ve read that book, too!” “I shopped at that toy store when I was a child,” “Did we live around the corner from each other?”). I need to do a better job of looking for ways to include, to invite, to encourage. Of course, it’s also harder to do from six feet away, but a smile, a wave, letting someone go first, a phone call, an actual note or letter, dropped in the mail, are ways to show kindness and hospitality.

And, from the back yard:

Cloud Library books are perfect for listening to, on my phone, while I’m working outside. So, by Friday afternoon, I could be finished with it. I’ll know whodiddoit, and how that Red House situation got resolved.

 

 

 

 

 

It Thinks It Can; It Thinks It Can

| Joy, Patience

 

It’s unfortunate that the lovely caladium plants in this photograph are difficult to see because of the crape myrtle leaves on the tree next door. And, also unfortunate that, when the tree’s limbs are bare, it’s ‘way too early for those plants to be growing. So, you’ll just have to come and visit me in late spring or summertime to be able to completely enjoy how attractive they are.

Or, rather were. This photograph is from last summer’s planting.

Caladiums come in a wide variety of colors and sizes and shapes. For several years, I’ve purchased a variety of caladium plants in different colors and sizes, and planted them in this shady southeast corner of the house. They’ve thrived there, but are not really winter-hardy here. A nursery employee once told me that, if I mulched them really well, they could stand our relatively mild winter (it might freeze a time or two, but not a serious freeze). I’ve not found that to be accurate.

This spring, well, ‘way back early, early in the spring, I was at a nursery and found caladium bulbs. I could do that, I thought. I’ll plant the bulbs and grow lovely caladiums. I chose several varieties, bagged up three each, carefully labeled each bag, so I would know which ones I had, and took photos of the pictures on each box, to help me recall what each variety looked like, and happily paid for them.

A few weeks later, I thought Time to plant those caladium bulbs!! And I went out on a Monday morning and got to work. It had rained. Quite a bit. But I dug (and slipped and slid) into the mushy bed. It was a pretty messy bit of gardening, and I quickly lost track of which ones I was putting in which spaces. And, then, there was such a density to the dirt/mud, that I was pushing some of them down into the mire, and then I had to go and open up a big bag of top soil to cover them all up (and to try to soak up some of the water).

A few weeks later, I was at a nursery (thank goodness nurseries are considered to be Essential Businesses), and I saw they had caladium plants, inside their store (as opposed to outside, where the sturdier plants were). I told the nursery guys how I had planted my caladium bulbs a while back and nothing had come up yet. They looked soberly at each other.

“A mistake?” I said.

“They’re probably dead,” one of them said.

“So,” I said. “If I want to plant these (pointing to the wonderful variety of growing caladium plants), when would I put them in the ground?”

“May 1,” they said.

So, that, so far, is my plan.

In the meantime, I’m moving some concrete edgers (again, a little difficult to see, due to that leafy crape myrtle’s dappled shade). The tree’s shade slows down the growth of the grass, and I’m trying to move the edgers closer to where the grass actually is. That leafy area on the right-hand side is Strawberry Begonia, which is a great, winter-hardy plant that loves shade, grows well, and spreads all by itself with no extra work on my part.

Rainfall has been plentiful right now, and there was a big storm a couple of days ago, which made shoveling a new track for those edgers much easier.

As I was working, digging, filling in the old track with dirt I dug out for the new track, admiring the strawberry begonias on my right and the ever-faithful, reliable, delightful daisies on my left (out of frame), guess what I saw. Come on, guess.

 

 

 

This is a tiny, new, brave caladium. (If you double click on the photo just above, you can actually see this tiny caladium, just to the left of center.)

Now, I’m not expecting all of them (or, really any more of them), to come up. But, maybe, just maybe, a few more will rise up. At the very least, I’m going to wait a little beyond May 1 before I rush out to buy some of those fully grown plants.

It seems a little bit miraculous. (Hmmm. Is miraculous a “little bit” kind of thing? Truly miraculous? Sort of miraculous? Gigantically miraculous? Quietly miraculous? Personally miraculous?)

Given the information I was given a few weeks ago, at the very least, I can look at it and say, “Well, that’s a miracle!”

 

 

For just as rain and snow fall from heaven and do not return there without saturating the earth and making it germinate and sprout, and providing seed to sow and food to eat, so my word that comes from my mouth will not return to me empty, but it will accomplish what I please and will prosper in what I send it to do.”

Isaiah 55:10-11 (Christian Standard Bible Version)

 

Maybe what seems like a miraculous thing to us, is just business as usual for God.

I Was Just Going to Run a Quick Errand

| Patience

Because I’m a Senior Adult with a myriad of underlying health issues, I’m trying to be cautious, and I’m reluctant to do much in the way of volunteering these days. But, last week, our pastor wrote about a need that I thought I could handle. Some local helping agencies and churches are working together to provide a family resource pantry in a nearby church, to help folks who are trying to make it after losing income in these past several weeks. We got an e-mail with a list of things that are most needed. And I thought I can do that. So I copied the list to my phone and went off to Target, first putting a few rolls of toilet paper in a bag to take along, too.  There was a list of needed groceries, and I found those things. There was a list of cleaning supplies, and, when I pulled my phone from my pocket to check, I saw that I had inadvertently erased the list. I called David and asked him to find the e-mail and tell me what cleaning supplies were on the list. Laundry detergent and dish soap and cleaning wipes. Got those, and went to check out.

I piled everything in the car to drive down to First Baptist Church, where people would be waiting to come to my car and take the donations. Here’s what happened next.

OF COURSE I kept it. It’s in David’s trunk. I put the toilet paper roll on it so you can get an idea of how big that log is.

While we’d been waiting, a few people came by to ask if we needed any help, and we explained what I’d done and that a tow was on the way. If anyone laughed about it, they did it discreetly. And it was rather humorous. And, when the tow truck driver got out of the truck and looked at the situation and got ready to attach the car to the truck, a young employee came out of the store and greeted the tow truck driver. “Hi, friend!” “Hey, good to see you!”

“So, you guys are friends?” I asked. “Oh, yeah,” said the young man. “He towed my car yesterday. See it’s right over there in the grass.” Small world

While I was sitting in the car, waiting for David to arrive, I had called Jeremy and Sarah, to talk a while and to explain that I was waiting because I’d hit something with the car. We had a nice chat. Later, I called again to finish up with the rest of the story.

“It was a log, about five inches across and several inches long,” I said.

“It must have been heavy,” Jeremy said.

“It was!” I said.

“Did you keep it?” he asked

 

 

 

So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up, or quit. Right now, therefore, every time we get the chance, let us work for the benefit of all, starting with the people closest to us in the community of faith.

Galatians 6:9-10 (The Message Translation)

 

No one came to me and said, “What happened here? Could you not have swerved to miss that thing? Weren’t you paying attention to the road?” Or anything like that. It is possible, of course, that any number of folks might have been thinking it. Instead, everyone that stopped to check on us were kind and concerned. But nobody said an unkind thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Traditions Tried and Traditions New

| Joy, Love, Patience

I think the old adage goes like this: When you’re really busy, time flies.

And the antithesis is: When there’s not much going on, there’s not much going on. Today lasts forever and tomorrow is hours and hours and hours away.

And then some.

I was thinking about Easter and how it seems to have been several weeks ago. But no, not even a whole week ago.

I haven’t been completely dormant this week. I’ve done important (but not too interesting) things, such as going to the grocery store, purchasing a limited amount of things, like salad stuff and hot dogs (and buns) and, um, other random stuff. I called in a prescription refill and picked that up at Target.

I’ve done some knitting. And had to start one thing over. Three times.

I’ve done a bit of work outside, but the weather’s been pretty chilly. Unseasonably chilly, as though WEATHER had not looked at the calendar and noticed that it’s April here. I keep thinking that I need to launder and put away the wintry clothing and pull out the springtime stuff. Not yet. (Of course, in just a few weeks, summer will be ready to creep in, and I’ll be complaining about the heat.)

And speaking of Easter, it rained. In the wee hours Sunday morning, a gigantic crash rattled the windows, an epic flash of light illuminated the bedroom, and drenching rain came down. And down. And down. And down.

The first thing I thought about was that I hoped that parents, trying to get ahead of the chaos of Easter morning, had not decided to hide eggs outdoors for their kids to find at the first light of day, which is when children who are expecting treats are going to want to rise and shine.

I was reminded of an Easter when I was a college student. A friend came home for the Easter weekend, and on Saturday, I went to her house and we decorated a lot of hard-boiled eggs and decorated them. She was inviting some high school friends over for a party, and then there would be a grand finale of finding Easter eggs in her spacious back yard. In the dark, with only the limited light from the garage and back patio lights.

Her friends were up to the challenge and eagerly went out to find those eggs. They got flashlights. They looked and peered and hunted.  Nothing. They could not find a single egg. My friend, and I, were shrugging our shoulders and trying to guide them to the places where we were certain there should be eggs. No luck. We were confounded.

She was able to figure it out the next day, when she noticed some movement in the back yard. The neighbors had a couple of large dogs, and they had pushed their way through a gap in the fencing. They were making beelines to the places where, during the early evening before, they had found some scrumptious, crackly, chewy, yummy treats.

She notified the neighbors that their dogs were out. And that their fence needed mending.

Some Easters have been bright and warm, others have been cloudy and damp. Since Easter isn’t a set date in the springtime, anywhere from March 22 to April 25, knowing what the weather might be, is, well, variable.

On our most recent Sunday morning, we had video church, now running for five Sundays. For most weeks, our pastor has preached from the living room (and our minister of music has led us in singing from his living room). Last Sunday, the preaching came from the beautiful back yard. That giant thunderstorm was short-lived, and the sun was shining. Alleluia!

Jeremy and Sarah’s church, in Brooklyn, has been putting Scripture reading and choral music with each week’s sermon and posting it online on Sunday mornings.

Kevin and April’s church has been having their worship services online for the past several weeks. They wanted to do something different on Easter, wanting the people to gather together, but staying safe. They invited everyone to drive to church, park in their larger parking lot, and worship together in their cars. They got an FM transmitter so that people could listen through their car’s radio. The pastor also invited people, when they would have said “Amen,” to honk their horns.

 

Wherever you’ve been, I hope your Easter was just what you needed it to be, to hear just what you needed to hear, and to rejoice in the way you needed to rejoice. Alleluia!

 

And I will be with you, day after day, to the end of the age.

Matthew 28:20b (The Voice Translation)

 

Amen.

And . . . I Got in Trouble at the Grocery Store

| Patience, Peace, Self-Control

Plenty of eggs at this visit, compared to last time, when there wasn’t an egg to be had.

We needed milk. Also, I’d found a recipe for dinner that I thought I could easily make. I included those ingredients, along with milk, on a short list of things, picked up my recycle bags, and headed off to HEB. I did go at 8:30 a.m., thinking that the shelves wouldn’t be quite as depleted as they’d been when I went in the late afternoon a few days earlier.

The raw eggs are gone, but here, just to the left of the sign, are packages of hard-cooked eggs. Yay! And, quite obviously, is the sign that says, “Limit 2.

Things have really settled down, compared to a few days ago, and there was plenty of parking, close and near the door. The store was busy but not crowded, and I quickly made my way to the aisles where I needed to shop. I put carrots and sugar snap peas in my cart. The canned things I needed were there. The ground beef was there. The milk was there.

When I’d gotten eggs (yes! there were eggs) a couple of days earlier, I’d looked for the packages of hard-cooked eggs that are usually in the egg area. Nope. But, since I was now at the store ‘way earlier than before, I went to look. And, yes. TA-DAH! There were packages of them. I got a couple, and, while I was there, I went ahead and got another carton of the eggs I like to buy.

I stopped in an empty aisle to check how many items I’d gotten. I like to use the self check-out (there’s usually less waiting time), and, there’s a limit of 10 items. Exactly what I had in my cart.

There was absolutely no waiting time; most folks had fully-loaded carts and were in lines at the regular check-outs. I pushed my cart over to a self-checkout slot, put my recycle bag on the shelf, and started scanning my groceries.

After a few items, things stalled, and an HEB employee came over to see what the problem was. (There’s always an employee there to straighten out various self-check snafus.) She looked at my groceries and pointed out that I’d tried to purchase too many eggs.

I’d missed the sign. And, really, even if I’d seen the sign,  I’d have assumed that raw eggs and bagged cooked eggs were different products. FYI-they are not two different products. She let me choose which egg product had to be removed. And I apologized and apologized and apologized some more as I gave her the carton of eggs. I’m not generally a rule-breaker, and I really didn’t know, and I was really sorry. She was not at all angry; I suppose she’d had to confront, gently, other shoppers about too many total items, or too little cash, or too many eggs.

 

 

Keep your temper under control; it is foolish to harbor a grudge.

Ecclesiastes 7:9 (Good News Translation)

 

And there you go.

The Three Stooges Version of a Trip to Target

| Patience, Peace

Quite some time ago, I mentioned how I made a reference to the Three Stooges to my young Children’s Minister, who was, well, unfamiliar with those guys. If  unfamiliar with the Stooges, you can get information about them here.

Meanwhile, I went to Target yesterday.

I needed to pick up a couple of prescriptions. That’s all. Why is that never all?

Many of my prescriptions come from a medication provider (for us senior adults). I’d apparently had trouble navigating one of them, recently. What I thought I’d ordered and paid for, never arrived. Last Monday, I logged onto the web site to check on things and discovered that there was no record of my order. So, yes, I certainly could re-order, but, I was on my last three doses, and I was uncertain about receiving the medication in the mail on time, given the upheaval in our lives right now. So, I phoned my physician’s office, explained my problem to the nurse, and asked for a prescription to be sent to the pharmacy at my Target. Yes, indeed, she said. Great.

On Tuesday, I got an e-mail from that online provider saying they needed my payment for the prescription. I phoned the doctor’s office and checked with my physician’s nurse. “Did that prescription go to the CVS pharmacy at Target?” Well, hmmm. No, it had not. It went to the online provider. We discussed the problem of getting that in the mail as timely as I needed it. And she said that, if it didn’t arrive, they could probably (probably?) fill in the gap. I checked the website, and there was a space that said, “Approve? Yes? No?” I checked “No,” and called the nurse back.

“Please go ahead a resubmit that prescription request at Target. I cancelled the other one.” “Yes,” she said. And, TA-DAH, it’s done. HAH.

Wednesday evening, I had the last dose of insulin. Thursday morning, I went to Target.

I asked for the insulin. She went back to her computer. And, of course, more problems.

“This prescription has already been charged to the online provider,” she said.  And I said, with dismay, “I can’t wait. I took my last dose last night. It wasn’t supposed to be charged to them.”

She was confounded, and another pharmacist came over and said, “Would you like me to do this?” And that first pharmacist said, “Yes, please,” and went to help another customer whose prescription wasn’t as complicated.

So, pharmacist #2 looks things over as I’m explaining how the problem happened, and she said she would phone that online provider and try to get it untangled. I could wait at the pharmacy, or if I needed to shop for other stuff in the store, she would call me after she’d talked to them.

“Great!” I went off to find Cheerios for David, who said everywhere he’d been was out of Cheerios. He’d not, apparently, looked at Target. There were all sizes of regular Cheerios, in addition to a wide variety of different kinds, flavors, etc. of Cheerios.

In a short time, the pharmacist phoned me (in the cereal aisle) to say that they could do an override, but but that I would have to make the call. She had the number, but, alas, I couldn’t find a pen, and she said she’d write down the number for me, and I could walk back to the pharmacy and get it. Which I did.

So, now, I’ve got the number, which I call, and there’s an automated voice telling me things, and asking me to say “yes,” and “prescription,” and asking me what is my identification number, so, I, with my phone in my hand, have to dig into my purse for my wallet and dig for that card, and I recite and confirm that number. Meanwhile, I am walking around Target, trying to find a quieter place to give all this information so that I’m not irritating other shoppers.

Then, a human being came online, and, as I am walking around, I’m trying to explain to her about the prescription that I’d asked for, and how it went to the wrong place ,and I really need to get it filled now, and that’s why I’m requesting an override. And then I worry that she’s going to give me some other phone number to call, and I know that I do not have a pen, so, while she’s working things out, I hurry on over to the aisle where there are pens, and I, not really wanting, or needing, a package of a dozen pens, finally find a package with one pen, and rip it open, try it out, and keep it handy.

I also know that I don’t have any paper in my purse, (I am woefully unprepared) and I am going to have to write any phone numbers or other information on the sides of the Cheerios boxes in my cart.

Then, after a few more minutes of standing in the kid’s video section, where I am finally alone, she comes back on and says, of course, that override can be managed, and she’ll connect me to Brie, who can get things fixed for me, and I think she’s talking about the pharmacist, but, no, she’s talking about someone at that online provider, who, in 45 seconds, confirms that the override is a done deal.

So, I go back to the pharmacy, where we are having to start the new prescription all over again. And, it will take a few minutes. Do I need to do some more sopping? Sure. And I went looking for new scales. The old scales, which are a few years old, but not ‘way old, have stopped working. I thought they just needed new batteries, which I didn’t have, but picked up last Monday, when I went to the grocery store. I replaced the old, worn out batteries with the nice, shiny, new ones. Without success. I guess that scale is broken, worn out, non-functional. The new scale is still in the box, but, I’m prepared with new batteries. Maybe tomorrow.

I also needed a prescription cream, which I asked the pharmacist to fill. “Oh,” she said, after looking at her computer. “That prescription has expired. I can call the doctor and have it renewed, Okay?” “Yes, please.” It wouldn’t be ready until the next day, but that’s fine. Target is close to me. No problem.

So. What should have taken, maybe ten? fifteen? minutes. Took about an hour and a half. And, I still have to go back. And I have to admit, I’m just glad it’s all worked out.

Find out for yourself how good the Lord is. Happy are those who find safety with him.

Psalm 34:8 (Good News Translation)

 

As we’re sheltering in place, except for those trips to the grocery store and Target, I was really unhappy when I learned that the libraries have been closed. NOOOOOO. But, a friend explained how it’s working now. I can go on the library’s web site, request books to be put on hold (which I do regularly, even though I usually go pick them up when they’re ready), and then I can check to see when the book(s) are available. Then, I phone the library and say that I’m ready to come and pick them up. I drive to the library where those books are and pull up to a door at the back of the library. I park and phone the library to let them know I’m there. They confirm my name and my library card number. Then, they will bag up the book(s) and open that door, place the bag on a table just outside the door, and go back in. Then, I get out of my car, retrieve the bag, get back in my car and drive away. What a plan!