I've never been the most tech savvy person. I'm always a little bit behind the newest and hottest things. When most of my friends were buying CD players in junior high, I finally bought a big boom box. You know the kind- you could carry it on your shoulder (well, if you wanted... it was a bit heavy). It had detachable speakers so you could cover a wider area. And it had the neatest thing- wait for it- a dual tape deck! I could play a tape in one slot and record it in the other! Oooh! Aren't you envious? If it was all hooked together, the boom box took up most of the length of my dresser, leaving me very little room for the necessities like hair spray and makeup.
Somewhere in high school I bought my first CD. Then I bought a discman with a special hookup for my car so I could listen to CDs in my old car. I know by the time I went to college I had upgraded my boom box to one that also played CDs. My freshman roommate had a stereo system that held 5 or 6 Cds at once. (I have since upgraded to MP3s, but only because my Rav had an MP3 hookup, so five years ago, Erich bought me an MP3 player for Christmas.)
When we moved to digital cameras, I held onto my 35mm. In fact, I bought a newer, nicer 35mm. Erich bought a digital camera about 9 years ago. I bought my first digital camera a little over 3 years ago. I didn't see the point to buy a digital camera just because they were the new thing. I had a great camera. So I waited, and when I finally did join the digital revolution, I loved it. I like that I can grab the camera and take a picture, and if I don't like the picture, I know instantly. I can delete it and try again. I like being able to easily share pictures with family members far away. It's so much nicer than my old film camera.
You won't be surprised to learn my cell phone is just a basic phone. It is a flip phone that fits in my palm and is over two years old. I even turned off the Internet capabilities on the phone. For me, the cell phone is something to use when I'm not near a traditional phone and need to call someone. It is rarely on. It can go a few months on a charge, because I don't have the phone on that often. There may be one or two nights a week that I turn it on to call Erich and ask if I can pull in the garage (sometimes we take the dogs in and out through the garage, so I always like to make sure no one's in transit before I open the door). If I'm traveling, I use it to call my parents from the airports to advise of flight delays or problems. When I finish the call, I turn off the phone. My phone doesn't tell me I have voicemail until after it's been on for a few minutes, so there are times that I get voicemail several weeks later. I tell everyone, if you want to reach me, don't call the cell!
I am possibly the oldest 35 year old out there. Most people my age are permanently attached to their phones. They can't function without it. I guess I kind of live in the dark ages.
So when e-readers came out a couple of years ago, I didn't pay any attention to them. As more friends bought them and loved them, I debated. I love books. Holding a book, turning the pages, skimming ahead to the end. I like going to stores to shop for books, and the feeling that my arms are going to fall off if I add one more book to my basket. I have two book shelves in my room that are stuffed, yet I want to put more books on them. Then, while packing for one of my many trips, it hit me- perhaps there was room for both an e-reader and actual books in my life! I always take books with me on a trip. The number of books I take is determined by the length of the trip, the length of layovers in airports, the purpose of the trip (ie work or pleasure), and the destination. I tend to take fewer books to my Mom & Dad's for example, because I know that every day is jam-packed. If it's a business trip and I know I will have a lot of alone time, I throw in a few more books.
All of these books take up a lot of room in a suitcase. I'm an expert at packing, but there are still times that I've had to sit on the suitcase to zip it. My sister says the suitcase isn't full until you have to sit on it. This isn't usually a problem when I leave for the trip- I can always take out something and leave it home or upgrade to a bigger suitcase. The problem is usually the return journey, especially if I've done any shopping on the trip. I have left quite a few books at Mom's house, because I read the book but didn't have room to bring it back. When she came to visit in April, she brought back all of those books (they drove, so she practically had unlimited room). The stack was much bigger than I anticipated! I knew I had to figure out something else.
I decided to buy an e-reader for traveling. It would take up much less space in my bag, could hold a lot of books, and if I finished the books I had, I could download more instead of being stuck with nothing to read. Then the question became, which e-reader to buy? I did my research and compared all the options. I settled on The Nook Color, by Barnes and Noble. I felt it filled my needs and desires the best. I asked my sister to give me a gift card to Barnes & Noble for my birthday. I also received money from some family members, and all of it went towards my Nook Color. Yet, I still hadn't ordered it. Last night, I checked my email and had a special offer from Barnes & Noble: buy the Nook Color and get 100 free books! They had my attention. I went to the website and checked the book list. 100 free books means nothing if it's books I would never read. In this case, the 100 free books were classics: books by Mark Twain, Moby Dick, Jane Eyre, and others that are recognized as 'classics'. I've read some of them, but many I have been meaning to read and haven't gotten around to it.
This was all the incentive I needed. I pulled the trigger last night and finally clicked 'submit' on my order. I feel that I got a good deal. And I like that! I renewed our B&N membership, and saved $25 on the Nook Color. The whole order qualified for free shipping, and as a B&N member, I also received free expedited shipping. 100 books free. I also bought a cover for it, and knowing my klutz tendencies, I bought the extended protection plan which covers accidents such as dropping it. It was Amy insurance! :)
Now, I am really excited. It should be here in a couple of days. I know I won't be able to wait until my next trip in August to use it. No doubt I will love it as much as I love my digital camera, and will wonder what took me so long.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Outnumbered
My Dad has been outnumbered for 35 years. He grew up in a family of four boys and four girls. But once he had his own family, he was outnumbered. When my sister completed the family, it was 3 females to Dad. Grandpa Wager used to say they stood a chance when we were visiting my Grandparents in Florida, because it was 5 females and 2 guys. Of course, Grandpa was joking when he said this.
My father survived living in a house with three women and one bathroom. Yes. One. No half bath on the second floor or in the basement. One full bathroom. He endured countless sleepovers, getting ready for parties and special events, and worst of all- two weddings! He always said we kept him waiting, but when it was time to go, we'd be in the car and he stepped back into the house to use the bathroom. Looking back, it was probably the only chance he got!
Mom and Dad have been married for 36 1/2 years. They raised two strong-willed women. He's got a strong-willed granddaughter. So by now, you'd think he'd be used us. Last week, we all conspired against him. It was for a good cause!
Four years ago, Dad suffered a life-altering injury on the job. The machine he was working on was sitting on ice. He had moved it, and thought he had it off the ice, but he didn't. As he was walking around the machine, he fell. All of the muscles in his leg were pulled apart. The surgeon told my mom it would not be a typical surgery, he basically had to reconnect every muscle in dad's leg. The surgeon did not think Dad would walk again. Dad was out of work for about six months. He went through extensive and very painful rehab. It is really through Dad's pure determination that he was able to walk again. He worked at his rehab well past the point of pain, and kept going when other people would have given up. He has a limp, and he has pain in the leg every day. He was left with a permanent disability, and knows that in the next few years, he will need a knee replacement in that leg.
And yet, my father has refused for four years to buy a riding lawn mower. My parents' yard is about a third of an acre. The yard is uneven, and miserable to mow with a push mower. I know. I've done it. When I was a teenager, Dad worked long hours, and sometimes he didn't get home til 9 at night. We had two push mowers, both old, as my father only bought used mowers. There was one place he bought mowers, and he'd spend maybe $25 and get a mower. My mom, sister, and I would mow the lawn after Mom got home, so that if Dad didn't have to work on Saturday we could have family time. He had one mower that I was the only one who could start it, so that was the one I used.
All these years later, my parents have still been mowing their lawn with a push mower. My mother has two bad knees (she's had surgery on both in the past), so neither of them needed to be doing all the walking. I asked four years ago to get him a riding lawn mower. I thought we could all pitch in and get it for his Father's Day, Christmas, and Birthday. My father wouldn't hear of it. Mom has brought it up every spring, and he kept telling her no.
This year, Mom shared her frustration with me. She said she wanted to buy one for him, and he said no. She was worried that he was doing more than he should. She worried that mowing the lawn was killing him. I worried it was killing both of them. My parents are relatively young, in their late 50's, but they are still at the age that they need to take extra care of themselves. When Mom told me how frustrated she was that Dad wouldn't let her buy a riding mower, I pointed out to her that she never let that stop her in the past. I gave her a couple of examples I could think of. In 1987, Mom wanted to buy a Ford. Mom had a Dodge 600 and Dad had a Dodge truck at the time. Dad was a 'Dodge Man'. Mom's family had always owned Fords or Mercurys. The problem, was that the Dodge dealer was in Albany. If the car had something wrong with it (and this car was borderline lemon, so it seemed there was always something wrong with it), Mom had to take a day off and go into Albany to get it fixed. Meanwhile, she drove past a Ford dealer every day on her way to work. Dad didn't want a Ford. Mom won that argument. She stopped at the Ford dealer and special ordered the car she wanted. She had brought home the books, and Dad chose the color (navy blue). But he didn't see the car until she pulled into the driveway. Then he said 'so that's what you bought'.
From that point on, Dad was a Ford man. Until Mom switched to Toyota a year and a half ago. He reluctantly went to the Toyota dealer, because he couldn't find anything on the Ford lot that he liked or that he had room in. Now both of their vehicles are Toyotas.
My father and I have always had a special bond. I can get through to him when others can't. So I know why Mom came to me. I told her that we had to TELL him he was getting a riding lawn mower, not ASK him if he wanted one. I knew he wouldn't be happy, but I also knew he'd get over it. I suspected that deep down, he knew it was for the best, but he didn't want to appear weak. When it comes to doing something for himself, my father can be very cheap. (That was one of his arguments against the riding lawn mower: it was too much money). He won't blink at how much Mom's Chanel #5 costs, or the price of Yankee tickets or race tickets. He doesn't bat an eye at the total at Carters or Osk Kosh when Mom's buying things for the grandkids. But try to get something for him, and he squeals. Earlier this year, he found a used one at his 'place' for $500, and Mom said he really considered it. But when they went back to get it, it was gone. That told me Dad knew it was time.
Mom talked to my brother in law, and asked his opinion. I think Mom wasn't sure what to look for, and that's why she hadn't already bought one. She talked to my brother-in-law, and he gave her some ideas. My sister was thrilled that they were finally looking at getting one. Soon the conspiracy included Mom, my sister and her husband, and myself. I have to say, it was a little bit fun conspiring against him!
Then it was time to tell Dad. We were planning to be near a Home Depot last Sunday, because Sydney's recital was in Albany. So Saturday night, Mom and I went downstairs to break the news to Dad. Mom told him "We're stopping at Home Depot tomorrow and buying a riding lawn mower." Dad, as expected, said 'No!' Mom calmly told him that she wasn't asking, she was telling. It was time they bought a riding lawn mower. He tried arguing about the cost, and we told him the cost was nothing if it saved on him & Mom. He tried to argue that mowing the lawn is how he gets his exercise. This argument was pretty weak, because Dad walks all over in town, he only takes the car if it's raining too hard. Mom told him that if he's soaking wet and exhausted after mowing the lawn, that's not good for him. Then we used the magic card- if you don't do it for yourself, or for us, do it for the grandkids so that you can be around to enjoy them grow up. Finally Mom told him to just accept it.
Sunday morning, he was reading the paper, and he said 'I have to check prices of something' and he started flipping through ads. I walked away, smiling. After we had dinner, Mom was driving, and she said 'how do I get to Home Depot from here?' Dad just smirked and looked out the window. So I had to think, because I knew he wasn't going to help her. If she wanted to do it, she had to do it on her own. I haven't driven in that area regularly for 17 years, so it took me a minute. Then I told her we had to go North on an interstate, but I couldn't think which one. That was all she needed, and she zipped onto the interstate. We walked into Home Depot, and a nice sales associate came to help us. Mom said 'Do not listen to that man. We are not leaving here until we buy a riding mower today.' The associate asked 'how big is your yard?' and Mom asked Dad 'is it a third of an acre?' Dad kept walking, that same smirk on his face. So I spoke up and told Mom she was right.
Dad did just as I knew he would. He started sitting on various mowers. He looked under the hood. He checked them all over. And then he asked the sales associate his thoughts. The sales associate recommended John Deere. I had to restrain myself. See, Dad worked for Caterpillar. So John Deere's are evil! I have been well trained. When we all laughed at the thought of Dad on a John Deere, I explained to the sales associate that Dad retired after over 32 years with Caterpillar, so we were trying not to get a Deere. Dad kept going back to a Cub Cadet. It seemed to take forever, but in reality, I know it took him less than an hour. Finally, Dad nodded at the Cub Cadet and said "I'll take this one." Years of worry left Mom's body with a loud, relieved sigh.
On the way home that night, Dad asked who was against him on this. I told him the whole family. He asked how long we've been conspiring against him. Mom answered "Over 36 years." The next morning Dad told me that Mom must be happy he had a new mower. He also said he had a new toy to figure out.
My brother-in-law picked up the mower in his truck on Friday, and brought it out to Dad. Mom e-mailed that Dad was able to get the entire lawn done in 20 minutes (it previously took closer to 2 hours), and he loved his new mower!
See, after all these years, he should know when to listen to us. Sometimes, all those women know what they are talking about!
My father survived living in a house with three women and one bathroom. Yes. One. No half bath on the second floor or in the basement. One full bathroom. He endured countless sleepovers, getting ready for parties and special events, and worst of all- two weddings! He always said we kept him waiting, but when it was time to go, we'd be in the car and he stepped back into the house to use the bathroom. Looking back, it was probably the only chance he got!
Mom and Dad have been married for 36 1/2 years. They raised two strong-willed women. He's got a strong-willed granddaughter. So by now, you'd think he'd be used us. Last week, we all conspired against him. It was for a good cause!
Four years ago, Dad suffered a life-altering injury on the job. The machine he was working on was sitting on ice. He had moved it, and thought he had it off the ice, but he didn't. As he was walking around the machine, he fell. All of the muscles in his leg were pulled apart. The surgeon told my mom it would not be a typical surgery, he basically had to reconnect every muscle in dad's leg. The surgeon did not think Dad would walk again. Dad was out of work for about six months. He went through extensive and very painful rehab. It is really through Dad's pure determination that he was able to walk again. He worked at his rehab well past the point of pain, and kept going when other people would have given up. He has a limp, and he has pain in the leg every day. He was left with a permanent disability, and knows that in the next few years, he will need a knee replacement in that leg.
And yet, my father has refused for four years to buy a riding lawn mower. My parents' yard is about a third of an acre. The yard is uneven, and miserable to mow with a push mower. I know. I've done it. When I was a teenager, Dad worked long hours, and sometimes he didn't get home til 9 at night. We had two push mowers, both old, as my father only bought used mowers. There was one place he bought mowers, and he'd spend maybe $25 and get a mower. My mom, sister, and I would mow the lawn after Mom got home, so that if Dad didn't have to work on Saturday we could have family time. He had one mower that I was the only one who could start it, so that was the one I used.
All these years later, my parents have still been mowing their lawn with a push mower. My mother has two bad knees (she's had surgery on both in the past), so neither of them needed to be doing all the walking. I asked four years ago to get him a riding lawn mower. I thought we could all pitch in and get it for his Father's Day, Christmas, and Birthday. My father wouldn't hear of it. Mom has brought it up every spring, and he kept telling her no.
This year, Mom shared her frustration with me. She said she wanted to buy one for him, and he said no. She was worried that he was doing more than he should. She worried that mowing the lawn was killing him. I worried it was killing both of them. My parents are relatively young, in their late 50's, but they are still at the age that they need to take extra care of themselves. When Mom told me how frustrated she was that Dad wouldn't let her buy a riding mower, I pointed out to her that she never let that stop her in the past. I gave her a couple of examples I could think of. In 1987, Mom wanted to buy a Ford. Mom had a Dodge 600 and Dad had a Dodge truck at the time. Dad was a 'Dodge Man'. Mom's family had always owned Fords or Mercurys. The problem, was that the Dodge dealer was in Albany. If the car had something wrong with it (and this car was borderline lemon, so it seemed there was always something wrong with it), Mom had to take a day off and go into Albany to get it fixed. Meanwhile, she drove past a Ford dealer every day on her way to work. Dad didn't want a Ford. Mom won that argument. She stopped at the Ford dealer and special ordered the car she wanted. She had brought home the books, and Dad chose the color (navy blue). But he didn't see the car until she pulled into the driveway. Then he said 'so that's what you bought'.
From that point on, Dad was a Ford man. Until Mom switched to Toyota a year and a half ago. He reluctantly went to the Toyota dealer, because he couldn't find anything on the Ford lot that he liked or that he had room in. Now both of their vehicles are Toyotas.
My father and I have always had a special bond. I can get through to him when others can't. So I know why Mom came to me. I told her that we had to TELL him he was getting a riding lawn mower, not ASK him if he wanted one. I knew he wouldn't be happy, but I also knew he'd get over it. I suspected that deep down, he knew it was for the best, but he didn't want to appear weak. When it comes to doing something for himself, my father can be very cheap. (That was one of his arguments against the riding lawn mower: it was too much money). He won't blink at how much Mom's Chanel #5 costs, or the price of Yankee tickets or race tickets. He doesn't bat an eye at the total at Carters or Osk Kosh when Mom's buying things for the grandkids. But try to get something for him, and he squeals. Earlier this year, he found a used one at his 'place' for $500, and Mom said he really considered it. But when they went back to get it, it was gone. That told me Dad knew it was time.
Mom talked to my brother in law, and asked his opinion. I think Mom wasn't sure what to look for, and that's why she hadn't already bought one. She talked to my brother-in-law, and he gave her some ideas. My sister was thrilled that they were finally looking at getting one. Soon the conspiracy included Mom, my sister and her husband, and myself. I have to say, it was a little bit fun conspiring against him!
Then it was time to tell Dad. We were planning to be near a Home Depot last Sunday, because Sydney's recital was in Albany. So Saturday night, Mom and I went downstairs to break the news to Dad. Mom told him "We're stopping at Home Depot tomorrow and buying a riding lawn mower." Dad, as expected, said 'No!' Mom calmly told him that she wasn't asking, she was telling. It was time they bought a riding lawn mower. He tried arguing about the cost, and we told him the cost was nothing if it saved on him & Mom. He tried to argue that mowing the lawn is how he gets his exercise. This argument was pretty weak, because Dad walks all over in town, he only takes the car if it's raining too hard. Mom told him that if he's soaking wet and exhausted after mowing the lawn, that's not good for him. Then we used the magic card- if you don't do it for yourself, or for us, do it for the grandkids so that you can be around to enjoy them grow up. Finally Mom told him to just accept it.
Sunday morning, he was reading the paper, and he said 'I have to check prices of something' and he started flipping through ads. I walked away, smiling. After we had dinner, Mom was driving, and she said 'how do I get to Home Depot from here?' Dad just smirked and looked out the window. So I had to think, because I knew he wasn't going to help her. If she wanted to do it, she had to do it on her own. I haven't driven in that area regularly for 17 years, so it took me a minute. Then I told her we had to go North on an interstate, but I couldn't think which one. That was all she needed, and she zipped onto the interstate. We walked into Home Depot, and a nice sales associate came to help us. Mom said 'Do not listen to that man. We are not leaving here until we buy a riding mower today.' The associate asked 'how big is your yard?' and Mom asked Dad 'is it a third of an acre?' Dad kept walking, that same smirk on his face. So I spoke up and told Mom she was right.
Dad did just as I knew he would. He started sitting on various mowers. He looked under the hood. He checked them all over. And then he asked the sales associate his thoughts. The sales associate recommended John Deere. I had to restrain myself. See, Dad worked for Caterpillar. So John Deere's are evil! I have been well trained. When we all laughed at the thought of Dad on a John Deere, I explained to the sales associate that Dad retired after over 32 years with Caterpillar, so we were trying not to get a Deere. Dad kept going back to a Cub Cadet. It seemed to take forever, but in reality, I know it took him less than an hour. Finally, Dad nodded at the Cub Cadet and said "I'll take this one." Years of worry left Mom's body with a loud, relieved sigh.
On the way home that night, Dad asked who was against him on this. I told him the whole family. He asked how long we've been conspiring against him. Mom answered "Over 36 years." The next morning Dad told me that Mom must be happy he had a new mower. He also said he had a new toy to figure out.
My brother-in-law picked up the mower in his truck on Friday, and brought it out to Dad. Mom e-mailed that Dad was able to get the entire lawn done in 20 minutes (it previously took closer to 2 hours), and he loved his new mower!
See, after all these years, he should know when to listen to us. Sometimes, all those women know what they are talking about!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
"Sometimes you want to go
where everybody knows your name
and they're always glad you came..."
~from 'Where Everybody Knows Your Name' by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo (otherwise known as the theme song to the show 'Cheers')
where everybody knows your name
and they're always glad you came..."
~from 'Where Everybody Knows Your Name' by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo (otherwise known as the theme song to the show 'Cheers')
This is not only the theme song to one of my favorite shows, Cheers, I feel like it's the theme song to my favorite pizza place, Kay's Pizza on Burden Lake, NY. It's a place where I feel like people know my name. Well, maybe not mine, but they know my parents.
If Guy Fieri were to visit Kay's, it would be classified as a dive. The building started its life as a hotel in the 1930s. It sits on a lake, and there is a man-made dike that you can drive across to get to it. The dike doubles as an extended parking lot on most nights. The building underwent extensive renovations about 7 years ago, but it still maintains that rickety feel that Kay's fans know and love.
Kay's is unpretentious. It's come as you are. You walk through the screen door and grab whatever seat you can find. Last year when I was there I witnessed a family walk in and ask one of the waitresses what the policy was for getting seated. "Do we put our name on a list?" I know it was mean, but I broke out laughing. (Thanks to the noise, no one noticed!) There is no list. If all the tables are full, you start a line. Right in the middle of the restaurant. On a Friday night, it's not uncommon to have the line out the door and into the parking lot by 6pm. As waitresses walk past with hot pizzas, you shuffle out of their way. As people exit the restaurant, you shuffle the other way to make room. While standing in line, you scout the room, checking to see who looks like they are about to leave. And you talk to the people around you in line. "I need to get a table for six, how many are in your party?" If the person behind you says 'just the two of us', then when a table opens up that will fit their party but not yours, you let them go ahead. There is no waiting for the table to be bussed. If you wait, you'll lose the table. As soon as the previous customers vacate the table, you make a mad dash around chairs and waitresses to get that table. The waitresses will be there quickly, to buss your table and take your drink order.
The tables for large parties (like 10) are on the far side of the restaurant. As you walk across the floor, you notice the floor sags and dips. If it's your first time there, you might think you stumbled, until you get to the tables. The table in the far corner runs downhill. If you sit next to the wall, the people at the other end of your table are a couple inches lower. It is possible to watch your pitcher of soda creep its way down the table as you eat.
There is no air conditioning at Kay's. There are screened windows all along the restaurant, which are always open to take advantage of the breeze coming off the lake. If it's an exceptionally hot day, with no breeze to be found, there are a couple of big fans set up that attempt to blow air through the restaurant. It's a hot place: both in temperature and popularity. When the two combine, it can be quite unpleasant in the building. But the food makes it all worth it.
Kay's is not the place you go if you want a nice, quiet dinner. Kay's is noisy. Some nights it is so noisy you have to shout just to talk to the people at your table. It is possible to walk out of there with a pounding headache. For all the chaos inside, when you walk outside and are met by the cool breeze coming off the lake, and the relative quiet, it feels like another world.
The sign out front says 'Kay's Famous Pizza'. You might think that's odd, for a little dive stuck in the middle of nowhere to call itself famous. It has a very loyal following, and I am not the only person who will travel 700 miles for a Kay's Fix. Last month I was reading a blog on the Albany Times Union's website. The question asked was 'What local food would you miss if you moved away?' People who still live in the area, and many like myself who moved away, answered 'Kay's'. I was actually surprised how many people answered Kay's, but one look at the parking lot on any given night erases the surprise.
You feel like part of a family at Kay's. My father has been going there for years: probably for most of his life. Then Mom & Dad took us there. Now my sister goes there with her kids. There's always someone walking in who knows you. People walk over to your table and say hi. It might be someone you haven't seen for a couple of years, or someone you see all the time. It's not uncommon for people to pull up a chair and grab a slice of your pizza. Everyone is always welcome.
Last week, we went to Kay's twice. We went Friday night, and then again for my birthday. My Grandfather joined us on our first night. The whole dinner was a parade of people stopping by the table. There were people who knew Grandpa, and people who knew my Dad. Then one of my cousins came in, and a few minutes later, one of my uncles came in. My sister and I laughed that it was like a family reunion. She said 'How much do the Primeau's love Kay's?'
There's really no way to describe the pizza. The dough has this great yeasty flavor to it. The italian sausage is piled on your pizza in great big yummy spicy lumps. The sausage has just the right amount of spice- it won't bowl you over, but you won't mistake it for breakfast sausage either. My order is always the same: a pizza with sausage and pepperoni. And an order of mozzerella sticks with raspberry sauce (I know, it sounds weird, right? But it is divine!) Mom and Dad always get a Kay's Special: sausage, peppers, and mushrooms. If Andy and Sydney are joining us, we usually get chicken wings too. Some nights we get a large antipasta salad, and sometimes my parents get steamed clams. It is quite a feast! There's never enough room on the table, but you get used to moving things around to make room for more food. If it's a slower night, like it was on my birthday, you just pull over another table and pile the food on that!
The food is what draws you in, and the atmosphere adds to the experience. The combination is what causes me to make the trek home at least once each summer, and one of my first stops is Kay's. It is a summertime tradition! (Oh, didn't I mention? Kay's is only open about five months a year! So you have a limited time to get your Fix!)
If Guy Fieri were to visit Kay's, it would be classified as a dive. The building started its life as a hotel in the 1930s. It sits on a lake, and there is a man-made dike that you can drive across to get to it. The dike doubles as an extended parking lot on most nights. The building underwent extensive renovations about 7 years ago, but it still maintains that rickety feel that Kay's fans know and love.
Kay's is unpretentious. It's come as you are. You walk through the screen door and grab whatever seat you can find. Last year when I was there I witnessed a family walk in and ask one of the waitresses what the policy was for getting seated. "Do we put our name on a list?" I know it was mean, but I broke out laughing. (Thanks to the noise, no one noticed!) There is no list. If all the tables are full, you start a line. Right in the middle of the restaurant. On a Friday night, it's not uncommon to have the line out the door and into the parking lot by 6pm. As waitresses walk past with hot pizzas, you shuffle out of their way. As people exit the restaurant, you shuffle the other way to make room. While standing in line, you scout the room, checking to see who looks like they are about to leave. And you talk to the people around you in line. "I need to get a table for six, how many are in your party?" If the person behind you says 'just the two of us', then when a table opens up that will fit their party but not yours, you let them go ahead. There is no waiting for the table to be bussed. If you wait, you'll lose the table. As soon as the previous customers vacate the table, you make a mad dash around chairs and waitresses to get that table. The waitresses will be there quickly, to buss your table and take your drink order.
The tables for large parties (like 10) are on the far side of the restaurant. As you walk across the floor, you notice the floor sags and dips. If it's your first time there, you might think you stumbled, until you get to the tables. The table in the far corner runs downhill. If you sit next to the wall, the people at the other end of your table are a couple inches lower. It is possible to watch your pitcher of soda creep its way down the table as you eat.
There is no air conditioning at Kay's. There are screened windows all along the restaurant, which are always open to take advantage of the breeze coming off the lake. If it's an exceptionally hot day, with no breeze to be found, there are a couple of big fans set up that attempt to blow air through the restaurant. It's a hot place: both in temperature and popularity. When the two combine, it can be quite unpleasant in the building. But the food makes it all worth it.
Kay's is not the place you go if you want a nice, quiet dinner. Kay's is noisy. Some nights it is so noisy you have to shout just to talk to the people at your table. It is possible to walk out of there with a pounding headache. For all the chaos inside, when you walk outside and are met by the cool breeze coming off the lake, and the relative quiet, it feels like another world.
The sign out front says 'Kay's Famous Pizza'. You might think that's odd, for a little dive stuck in the middle of nowhere to call itself famous. It has a very loyal following, and I am not the only person who will travel 700 miles for a Kay's Fix. Last month I was reading a blog on the Albany Times Union's website. The question asked was 'What local food would you miss if you moved away?' People who still live in the area, and many like myself who moved away, answered 'Kay's'. I was actually surprised how many people answered Kay's, but one look at the parking lot on any given night erases the surprise.
You feel like part of a family at Kay's. My father has been going there for years: probably for most of his life. Then Mom & Dad took us there. Now my sister goes there with her kids. There's always someone walking in who knows you. People walk over to your table and say hi. It might be someone you haven't seen for a couple of years, or someone you see all the time. It's not uncommon for people to pull up a chair and grab a slice of your pizza. Everyone is always welcome.
Last week, we went to Kay's twice. We went Friday night, and then again for my birthday. My Grandfather joined us on our first night. The whole dinner was a parade of people stopping by the table. There were people who knew Grandpa, and people who knew my Dad. Then one of my cousins came in, and a few minutes later, one of my uncles came in. My sister and I laughed that it was like a family reunion. She said 'How much do the Primeau's love Kay's?'
There's really no way to describe the pizza. The dough has this great yeasty flavor to it. The italian sausage is piled on your pizza in great big yummy spicy lumps. The sausage has just the right amount of spice- it won't bowl you over, but you won't mistake it for breakfast sausage either. My order is always the same: a pizza with sausage and pepperoni. And an order of mozzerella sticks with raspberry sauce (I know, it sounds weird, right? But it is divine!) Mom and Dad always get a Kay's Special: sausage, peppers, and mushrooms. If Andy and Sydney are joining us, we usually get chicken wings too. Some nights we get a large antipasta salad, and sometimes my parents get steamed clams. It is quite a feast! There's never enough room on the table, but you get used to moving things around to make room for more food. If it's a slower night, like it was on my birthday, you just pull over another table and pile the food on that!
The food is what draws you in, and the atmosphere adds to the experience. The combination is what causes me to make the trek home at least once each summer, and one of my first stops is Kay's. It is a summertime tradition! (Oh, didn't I mention? Kay's is only open about five months a year! So you have a limited time to get your Fix!)
Saturday, June 11, 2011
A Gift to Myself
Readers of my daily blog and friends know I celebrated my 35th birthday earlier this week. 35??? Who approved that?? I don't know why 35 bothered me so much. Age is like your dress size- it's just a number. It doesn't define you. 35 is just a placeholder for the next year of my life.
But it's caused me to do a lot of thinking and soul-searching. The result is an important decision about my future.
I have always dreamed of being a writer. My parents have always been very supportive, encouraging me to write. They have always told me that I have a gift. For many years, I didn't believe them. I thought they were just doing what parents do- believing in their children.
I have grown as a writer, particularly in the past few years. When I was in high school, I wouldn't read my own stories or poems to the Creative Writing class. I would let someone else read them, but I couldn't bare to read them myself. My writing comes from my heart, and I felt that revealing such a deep, personal part of me left me incredibly vulnerable.
Slowly I have overcome this fear. I've been writing monthly columns for the magazine at work for the past two years. This magazine is read by all our members, prospects, and whomever else finds a copy. It goes out to several thousand people each month. Sure, my articles are about benefits we offer to our members, but it's still putting myself out there.
Then I started blogging. I don't know what possessed me to start sharing my posts on Facebook. There was a part of me that asked 'what are you thinking? You are inviting people to read your writing'. I still had a lot of doubt about my abilities, even though my friends consistently provided positive feedback. In fact, my friends were just as encouraging as my parents. I started thinking maybe everyone was right. When complete strangers started complimenting me, the doubts fell away like a shroud.
My confidence has been building. It reached a new high a few weeks ago. I recently won a book, The Diva Doctrine, by Patricia V. Davis through a blog giveaway hosted by one of my friends. Patricia friended me on Facebook. I read a blog post she wrote, which partially inspired my post about self-esteem issues in girls. I then shared the link to my post on her wall! The writer sitting in her room in high school, scribbling away in notebooks that she then hid from others thought it was absolutely bold of me to think a published author would be interested in anything I wrote. But that author did read my post, as did others.
Around the same time, I edited a book for a friend. She's already published one book, and is working on her second. I guess the increased confidence in my writing, the inspiration provided by my friend, and that horrible number that was looming over my birthday created a sort of perfect storm of writing. I've wanted to publish books for so long, what am I waiting for?
So, I am happy to announce I've set a goal for myself. I will have my first book published by the end of the year. I don't expect it will be a best seller which will leave me swimming in riches. It will fulfill a dream, and hopefully be the first of many. No longer am I going to say 'someday I'll be published'. Someday has come. It is my birthday gift to myself.
But it's caused me to do a lot of thinking and soul-searching. The result is an important decision about my future.
I have always dreamed of being a writer. My parents have always been very supportive, encouraging me to write. They have always told me that I have a gift. For many years, I didn't believe them. I thought they were just doing what parents do- believing in their children.
I have grown as a writer, particularly in the past few years. When I was in high school, I wouldn't read my own stories or poems to the Creative Writing class. I would let someone else read them, but I couldn't bare to read them myself. My writing comes from my heart, and I felt that revealing such a deep, personal part of me left me incredibly vulnerable.
Slowly I have overcome this fear. I've been writing monthly columns for the magazine at work for the past two years. This magazine is read by all our members, prospects, and whomever else finds a copy. It goes out to several thousand people each month. Sure, my articles are about benefits we offer to our members, but it's still putting myself out there.
Then I started blogging. I don't know what possessed me to start sharing my posts on Facebook. There was a part of me that asked 'what are you thinking? You are inviting people to read your writing'. I still had a lot of doubt about my abilities, even though my friends consistently provided positive feedback. In fact, my friends were just as encouraging as my parents. I started thinking maybe everyone was right. When complete strangers started complimenting me, the doubts fell away like a shroud.
My confidence has been building. It reached a new high a few weeks ago. I recently won a book, The Diva Doctrine, by Patricia V. Davis through a blog giveaway hosted by one of my friends. Patricia friended me on Facebook. I read a blog post she wrote, which partially inspired my post about self-esteem issues in girls. I then shared the link to my post on her wall! The writer sitting in her room in high school, scribbling away in notebooks that she then hid from others thought it was absolutely bold of me to think a published author would be interested in anything I wrote. But that author did read my post, as did others.
Around the same time, I edited a book for a friend. She's already published one book, and is working on her second. I guess the increased confidence in my writing, the inspiration provided by my friend, and that horrible number that was looming over my birthday created a sort of perfect storm of writing. I've wanted to publish books for so long, what am I waiting for?
So, I am happy to announce I've set a goal for myself. I will have my first book published by the end of the year. I don't expect it will be a best seller which will leave me swimming in riches. It will fulfill a dream, and hopefully be the first of many. No longer am I going to say 'someday I'll be published'. Someday has come. It is my birthday gift to myself.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Power of a Card
I have always been a Hallmark junkie. I like to send cards. But the cards have to have meaning. I will often read several cards before I find the right one. I agonize over cards. If I'm looking for a card for say, Mom's birthday, it has to sound like it's from me. 'Thanks for being there' doesn't cut it. But a card that talks about the ups and downs, and how we came through as friends- that one hits me. If the card makes me tear up in the store, I know it will have the desired reaction with my mom (or whomever the recipient is).
My mother is the same way. My sister laughs at us, because she is more of a 'pick and grab' type of person. She reads the card, says 'yes, that's good' and buys it. Mom and I are still looking for just the right card when my sister has moved on to the next store.
I think the reason I do this is because I enjoy receiving cards. I keep the cards that are sent to me. My ideal plan is to have them nicely organized into a storage container- grouped by occasion. I've bought the storage container, but have yet to find all the cards and organize them. But I know I have kept the cards! I think I started keeping them when I turned 16. I have my Sweet 16 birthday cards, my high school graduation cards, the cards of encouragement Mom sent me in college. I no longer have the wedding cards. I kept them until the divorce. And I'm sure no one will blame me for pitching them.
Some cards have much more of a pull on me than others. All my life, I received birthday cards signed 'Love Grandma and Grandpa W' or 'Love Grandma & Grandpa Primeau'. My grandmothers' handwritings were different, but still had that 'old lady' look to them. Grandma Wager's was a little more hurried than Grandma Primeau's. Grandma Primeau's was a little more round. Grandma Primeau always wrote a little note wishing you the best for the coming year. It was something I didn't think about. Two cards each birthday for a granddaughter.
That all changed on my 24th Birthday. I still received the same card from Grandma and Grandpa Primeau, but the other card said 'Love, Grandma W'. Grandpa Wager passed away in February, 2000. Reading the birthday card without his name was hard. It was one of many times that it hit me he was truly gone. After a couple more years, Grandma Wager couldn't write very well, so I got a card from Grandma and Aunt Arlene. It was in Aunt Arlene's handwriting 'Love, Grandma and Aunt Arlene'. I felt another little part of my heart break.
Two years ago, I knew there would only be one card. Grandma Wager joined Grandpa in Heaven in October, 2008. So when my birthday rolled around eight months later, I had prepared myself. Or so I thought. My other Grandma had gotten so busy helping her church prepare for their annual turkey dinner (which is always the first Saturday in June), that she forgot my birthday. There were many birthdays of mine that my Grandparents missed (at her funeral, the other 14 grandchildren said she never missed a birthday. But the truth is- they missed most of mine. They came to my sister's, but not mine. I have struggled with this, wondering if I should even write about it. I know some of my family members read my blog. But I think I have to mention it. It hurt deeply. It hurt each year June 6 came and my Grandparents were in Montreal at a baseball game. And it hurt in February, listening to 14 of her 15 grandchildren talk about her making every birthday party; wondering why she didn't come to mine. But I have made my peace with her. I still had incredible birthday parties, I don't hate her for not coming. I have other things that the others do not have- the links to the family history. A better sense of who we are and who I am. So I'm ok.)
I digress. Anyway, I was used to my Grandparents not being around for my birthday, and Grandma being busy with her church supper. But she had always sent a card. Sometimes, thanks to the mail delivery, it arrived a couple days late. But it always came. So when it didn't come by my birthday, I didn't think anything of it. Then Grandma called that night and told me she hadn't bought me a card because she forgot about my birthday. I admit, I got upset with my Grandmother. They were the only Grandparents I had left, that year in particular, it would have meant so much to have a birthday card signed 'Love, Grandma and Grandpa'.
Last year I did get a card. I have saved it, just like I save all of them. I didn't know it would be the last card until this year, when Grandma died. One of my Aunt's made a calendar for Grandpa with everyone's birthdays on it, and their phone number so he could call them. I knew she was doing this, because she asked for my phone number. So I expected a phone call, I didn't expect a card.
I came home yesterday, and there was a greeting card addressed to me on the table. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but the postage stamp was 'Albany, NY'. Well- that could be just about anyone because all the mail gets the Albany post stamp. Then I saw the address label, and it was Grandpa's address. I paused a moment before opening it, preparing myself. Just as you can never truly prepare yourself for the death of a loved one, you can't prepare for this either. I opened the card, and I have to say, I didn't even read the words inside. My eyes went immediately to the bottom of the card, which was signed 'Love, Gramp'. As the tears flowed, I realized I had never seen my Grandfather's writing. He sent a check too. I told my Grandparents years ago that they didn't have to send me money for my birthday, a card was enough. I worried about them spending money they didn't have. I worried about both sets of Grandparents- Mom's parents who had the good retirements but major health issues, and Dad's parents who had the huge family. Grandma's budget was always $25 per grandchild. With 15 grandchildren, that's a small fortune to put out for Christmas and Birthdays! I told them I didn't need the money, I appreciated it, but I wished they would keep it in case they needed it. It really was the thought that meant more to me. Grandma and Grandpa Primeau kept sending money. She said she wanted to, and Dad told me to let her. I had told her it wasn't necessary, and she was doing it because it made her happy. So the tradition continued.
I saw the check, not written in Grandma's round old lady script, but rather in Grandpa's almost illegible scrawl. Signed by Grandpa. Grandpa's first name is Aubrey, so looking at how he wrote my name- so similar to his own, it just touched me. How have I lived 35 years and never seen this man's handwriting? Then I remembered how Grandpa left school in 8th grade to help support his family during the Depression. I wonder if all the grandkids know that? To say emotions flooded me would be an understatement. I put the check back in the card and closed the card. Just as I closed it, I caught a glimpse of the top of the check, and Grandma's name is still on it. The tears flowed again.
The whole thing was sweet and sad and overwhelming. I couldn't call my parents and talk about it, I was too emotional. Every time I caught a glimpse of that card last night, I burst into tears again. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped while typing this to get a Kleenex. I am so touched by this card, by Grandpa's action. I have no doubt one of my Aunts bought the card and told him to send it. But it is still touching. I will keep it, just as I have kept all the others, but I will treasure it in a very different way.
My mother is the same way. My sister laughs at us, because she is more of a 'pick and grab' type of person. She reads the card, says 'yes, that's good' and buys it. Mom and I are still looking for just the right card when my sister has moved on to the next store.
I think the reason I do this is because I enjoy receiving cards. I keep the cards that are sent to me. My ideal plan is to have them nicely organized into a storage container- grouped by occasion. I've bought the storage container, but have yet to find all the cards and organize them. But I know I have kept the cards! I think I started keeping them when I turned 16. I have my Sweet 16 birthday cards, my high school graduation cards, the cards of encouragement Mom sent me in college. I no longer have the wedding cards. I kept them until the divorce. And I'm sure no one will blame me for pitching them.
Some cards have much more of a pull on me than others. All my life, I received birthday cards signed 'Love Grandma and Grandpa W' or 'Love Grandma & Grandpa Primeau'. My grandmothers' handwritings were different, but still had that 'old lady' look to them. Grandma Wager's was a little more hurried than Grandma Primeau's. Grandma Primeau's was a little more round. Grandma Primeau always wrote a little note wishing you the best for the coming year. It was something I didn't think about. Two cards each birthday for a granddaughter.
That all changed on my 24th Birthday. I still received the same card from Grandma and Grandpa Primeau, but the other card said 'Love, Grandma W'. Grandpa Wager passed away in February, 2000. Reading the birthday card without his name was hard. It was one of many times that it hit me he was truly gone. After a couple more years, Grandma Wager couldn't write very well, so I got a card from Grandma and Aunt Arlene. It was in Aunt Arlene's handwriting 'Love, Grandma and Aunt Arlene'. I felt another little part of my heart break.
Two years ago, I knew there would only be one card. Grandma Wager joined Grandpa in Heaven in October, 2008. So when my birthday rolled around eight months later, I had prepared myself. Or so I thought. My other Grandma had gotten so busy helping her church prepare for their annual turkey dinner (which is always the first Saturday in June), that she forgot my birthday. There were many birthdays of mine that my Grandparents missed (at her funeral, the other 14 grandchildren said she never missed a birthday. But the truth is- they missed most of mine. They came to my sister's, but not mine. I have struggled with this, wondering if I should even write about it. I know some of my family members read my blog. But I think I have to mention it. It hurt deeply. It hurt each year June 6 came and my Grandparents were in Montreal at a baseball game. And it hurt in February, listening to 14 of her 15 grandchildren talk about her making every birthday party; wondering why she didn't come to mine. But I have made my peace with her. I still had incredible birthday parties, I don't hate her for not coming. I have other things that the others do not have- the links to the family history. A better sense of who we are and who I am. So I'm ok.)
I digress. Anyway, I was used to my Grandparents not being around for my birthday, and Grandma being busy with her church supper. But she had always sent a card. Sometimes, thanks to the mail delivery, it arrived a couple days late. But it always came. So when it didn't come by my birthday, I didn't think anything of it. Then Grandma called that night and told me she hadn't bought me a card because she forgot about my birthday. I admit, I got upset with my Grandmother. They were the only Grandparents I had left, that year in particular, it would have meant so much to have a birthday card signed 'Love, Grandma and Grandpa'.
Last year I did get a card. I have saved it, just like I save all of them. I didn't know it would be the last card until this year, when Grandma died. One of my Aunt's made a calendar for Grandpa with everyone's birthdays on it, and their phone number so he could call them. I knew she was doing this, because she asked for my phone number. So I expected a phone call, I didn't expect a card.
I came home yesterday, and there was a greeting card addressed to me on the table. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but the postage stamp was 'Albany, NY'. Well- that could be just about anyone because all the mail gets the Albany post stamp. Then I saw the address label, and it was Grandpa's address. I paused a moment before opening it, preparing myself. Just as you can never truly prepare yourself for the death of a loved one, you can't prepare for this either. I opened the card, and I have to say, I didn't even read the words inside. My eyes went immediately to the bottom of the card, which was signed 'Love, Gramp'. As the tears flowed, I realized I had never seen my Grandfather's writing. He sent a check too. I told my Grandparents years ago that they didn't have to send me money for my birthday, a card was enough. I worried about them spending money they didn't have. I worried about both sets of Grandparents- Mom's parents who had the good retirements but major health issues, and Dad's parents who had the huge family. Grandma's budget was always $25 per grandchild. With 15 grandchildren, that's a small fortune to put out for Christmas and Birthdays! I told them I didn't need the money, I appreciated it, but I wished they would keep it in case they needed it. It really was the thought that meant more to me. Grandma and Grandpa Primeau kept sending money. She said she wanted to, and Dad told me to let her. I had told her it wasn't necessary, and she was doing it because it made her happy. So the tradition continued.
I saw the check, not written in Grandma's round old lady script, but rather in Grandpa's almost illegible scrawl. Signed by Grandpa. Grandpa's first name is Aubrey, so looking at how he wrote my name- so similar to his own, it just touched me. How have I lived 35 years and never seen this man's handwriting? Then I remembered how Grandpa left school in 8th grade to help support his family during the Depression. I wonder if all the grandkids know that? To say emotions flooded me would be an understatement. I put the check back in the card and closed the card. Just as I closed it, I caught a glimpse of the top of the check, and Grandma's name is still on it. The tears flowed again.
The whole thing was sweet and sad and overwhelming. I couldn't call my parents and talk about it, I was too emotional. Every time I caught a glimpse of that card last night, I burst into tears again. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped while typing this to get a Kleenex. I am so touched by this card, by Grandpa's action. I have no doubt one of my Aunts bought the card and told him to send it. But it is still touching. I will keep it, just as I have kept all the others, but I will treasure it in a very different way.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Alone with my Mind
My brain never shuts off. When I'm at work, when I'm driving, when I'm trying to sleep: my mind is always going what feels like 100 miles an hour. I jokingly tell people that it can get scary inside my head. Last night I had to go to the hospital after work to have an MRI done. My neurologist is still trying to figure out why I'm losing feeling in my hands. I had an MRI years ago, when I first sought treatment for the headaches. It has been probably at least 8 years, so while I vaguely remembered what an MRI is like, I forgot how much fun it really is.
You have to lie down on this narrow cot like thing. It's not truly a cot, but part of the MRI machine. Your head goes into a little cradle. The technician asked if I wanted to listen to music, and I said 'sure'. So I was fitted with gigantic headphones. I told her any music was fine, so she put it on the 'warm' station- which plays a mix of 90's, 00's, and today (remember when the mix used to be 70s, 80s, and 90s?). She put this contraption over my face which resembled the face mask of a football helmet. She explained this holds the pictures. The technician told me to stay very still, and it would probably only take about 10 minutes. Of course, I knew, if I moved, it would take longer. I closed my eyes (which made me feel less claustrophobic), and took a deep breath while the 'bed' moved my head into the tube of the MRI machine. And then my mind started chirping. It raced from one topic to another and went a little something like this:
I just heard this song on the radio in the car. They play this song too much. The radio plays the same songs over and over. How long is this song? How long have I been in here? The average song is 3 minutes long. How do I know that? Seems like I picked that piece of trivia up somewhere. So if I get through three songs, I will be almost done. This song isn't over yet? Oh good, news. Chance of severe weather again tonight. I hope we don't get any, really don't want to go in the pantry. Stay still. Don't move. I need to take a deep breath, I think it's ok, obviously you are supposed to breathe in here. Another song. I like this song. Don't move. Don't try to sing along with the song. Just stay still and listen to the song. Why did I decide to clasp my hands like this? My fingers are sore and I now I can't move. If I move I'm going to hear that nice lady's voice tell me 'stay still'. I wonder if I'm her last patient tonight. The hospital is pretty quiet at 5pm, this is the time to come for tests. But if I move, it will take longer, and if I am her last patient, I'll be keeping her here longer. My right leg seems to be at an odd angle, it hurts. It's getting hot in here. I feel like I could fall asleep. How can I feel so rested while it sounds like a jackhammer is going off next to my head? I'm glad I took one of my migraine pills this afternoon. I can't fall asleep. What if I jerk my body as I fall into a deep sleep? Then I would mess it up and I'd have to be here longer. Oh, we're on the third song.
And then the technician's voice said 'Ok, we're done'. As I was backed out of the tube, my mind said 'Already? That was quick!' I was grateful to have the sound of something other than my own thoughts to listen to!
You have to lie down on this narrow cot like thing. It's not truly a cot, but part of the MRI machine. Your head goes into a little cradle. The technician asked if I wanted to listen to music, and I said 'sure'. So I was fitted with gigantic headphones. I told her any music was fine, so she put it on the 'warm' station- which plays a mix of 90's, 00's, and today (remember when the mix used to be 70s, 80s, and 90s?). She put this contraption over my face which resembled the face mask of a football helmet. She explained this holds the pictures. The technician told me to stay very still, and it would probably only take about 10 minutes. Of course, I knew, if I moved, it would take longer. I closed my eyes (which made me feel less claustrophobic), and took a deep breath while the 'bed' moved my head into the tube of the MRI machine. And then my mind started chirping. It raced from one topic to another and went a little something like this:
I just heard this song on the radio in the car. They play this song too much. The radio plays the same songs over and over. How long is this song? How long have I been in here? The average song is 3 minutes long. How do I know that? Seems like I picked that piece of trivia up somewhere. So if I get through three songs, I will be almost done. This song isn't over yet? Oh good, news. Chance of severe weather again tonight. I hope we don't get any, really don't want to go in the pantry. Stay still. Don't move. I need to take a deep breath, I think it's ok, obviously you are supposed to breathe in here. Another song. I like this song. Don't move. Don't try to sing along with the song. Just stay still and listen to the song. Why did I decide to clasp my hands like this? My fingers are sore and I now I can't move. If I move I'm going to hear that nice lady's voice tell me 'stay still'. I wonder if I'm her last patient tonight. The hospital is pretty quiet at 5pm, this is the time to come for tests. But if I move, it will take longer, and if I am her last patient, I'll be keeping her here longer. My right leg seems to be at an odd angle, it hurts. It's getting hot in here. I feel like I could fall asleep. How can I feel so rested while it sounds like a jackhammer is going off next to my head? I'm glad I took one of my migraine pills this afternoon. I can't fall asleep. What if I jerk my body as I fall into a deep sleep? Then I would mess it up and I'd have to be here longer. Oh, we're on the third song.
And then the technician's voice said 'Ok, we're done'. As I was backed out of the tube, my mind said 'Already? That was quick!' I was grateful to have the sound of something other than my own thoughts to listen to!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)