Remembrance of things past

One Friday in January 1996, as I was returning to work after grabbing a quick lunch out (hamburger, French fries, Dr. Pepper) with a couple of colleagues, I felt kind of punky (translation: not up to par) and thought I might be coming down witn an upper respiratory infection. Ascending the five or six steps between the lower-than-street-level parking lot at my place of employment to reach the entrance to the building, I experienced some tightness in my chest and some achiness between my shoulder blades, and thought, "I think I'm coming down with an upper respiratory infection." It was January, after all, so that wasn't all that unusual.

Mrs. RWP and I had made plans to visit our daughter and son-in-law over the weekend as it was our daughter's birthday, so we set off on the 3½-hour drive early Saturday mornng, taking along a gift that hadn't yet been wrapped. About 30 minutes from our destination, as we neared Birminghan, Mrs. RWP asked me to stop at Leeds so that we could buy some wrapping paper and ribbon at the shopping center there. (Note to readers, wherever you are: This Birmingham and Leeds are in Alabama, not in England.) I exited I-20 like a dutiful husband

As we were walking around the supermarket, I once again felt that I must be coming down with an upper respiratory infection. In addition to the tightness and achiness, I began to sweat profusely. I felt clammy and my head began spinning (not literally, you're not reading The Exorcist here). I asked my wife to drive the rest of the way to our daughter's place as I felt unable to concentrate on driving.

When we arrived at the apartment complex where our daughter and her husband lived, everyone insisted that I lie down in the bedroom. After taking a short nap, I felt much better, but my wife (an RN), my son-in-law (an EMT), and his brother (an RN who happened to live in the next building) all checked my temperature, my pulse, and the brother even listened to my chest through a stethoscope. Everything seemed normal and I felt much better. The rest of the stay passed uneventfully and I did all the driving on the way back home on Sunday evening.

Ellie wanted me to go to our doctor on Monday morning but I insisted that I felt fine and went to the office. Ascending those steps that morning, I felt the tightness and achiness again, and at lunchtime it happened again. Other than those couple of moments, I felt fine all day, and thought I might be coming down with an upper respiratory infection.

In the middle of the night, I made it out of bed and got to the bathroom just in time to throw up violently. Mrs. RWP said, "You're not going to work in the morning, you're going to the doctor."

So Tuesday morning found us in our doctor's office.

"Why have you come in to see me today?" he asked.

"I think I'm coming down with an upper respiratory infection," I said, and I told him the reasons why I thought so.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Fifty-four," I said. "I'll be 55 in a couple of months."

"Do you think it might be your heart?" he asked, which surprised me.

"No," I said, "there's no history of heart problems on either side of my family."

"Well," he said, "Given your age I would be remiss if we didn't do an EKG."

And that was that. In very short order I found myself being shaved in various places and having jelly applied and being hooked up by wires to a strange looking device with which I was not previously acquainted. The technician looked perplexed at what she saw on the strip and decided to run a second one. After the second one she still looked confused, and she wondered aloud if the equipment might not be operating properly, and summoned the doctor into the room. He looked at the two strips, then ran a third EKG himself. He looked at it and left the room.

I didn't know it, but he had gone to the waiting room to ask my wife to come to his office, then he returned and asked me to come to his office too. What he said next was the last thing I expected to hear.

"Mr. Brague," the doctor said, "you have either had or are having a heart attack."

I ended up spending five days in a hospital. Tomorrow, January 31st, when I meet with my cardiologist for yet another semi-annual follow-up appointment, it will be the 52nd time in 26 years that we have met together.

In 2017, I did have to have five stents inserted into my coronary arteries, but those details can wait until another day.

In closing, here's my advice, and it's pretty simple: Listen to your body. Listen to your wife. Listen to your doctor.

Do they think I just fell off the back of a turnip truck?

Don't answer that.

The major supermarket chain with whom I have been doing business for many years sent me a flyer in today's mail to announce a wonderful new feature they are offering:

FREE Delivery!

It turns out, though, that there's one teensy-weensy little catch, a fly in the ointment, as it were.

It's not free.

The devil, as always, is in the details. Farther down in the flyer we learn that for "Next-Day Delivery" the cost is $59/year* and for "Delivery in as Little as 2 Hours" the cost is $99/year*.

I learned even more when I checked the fine print at the bottom of the flyer:

*$35 order minimum. Restrictions Apply. Subject to availability. Delivery time not guaranteed.

As people have been saying since at least as long ago as the days of the Roman Empire, caveat emptor (let the buyer beware).

The French say (in French, of course), "The more things change, the more they remain the same."

Perhaps P.T. Barnum said it best: "There's one born every minute."

I have no doubt whatever that a lot of people will rush to avail themselves of FREE Delivery, many of them millennials who have a college degree.

I will not be among them.

Idle thoughts and random musings on a cold day in January

Some people are so instantly recognizable they don't need surnames:

Cher
Elvis
Marilyn
Elton
Madonna

Some pairs don't need surnames either:

Eleanor and Franklin
Bill and Hillary
Elizabeth and Philip
Fred and Ginger
Harry and Meghan
Sonny and Cher
Charles and Diana
Charles and Camilla
Donny and Marie
Nelson and Winnie
Napoleon and Josephine
Heloise and Abelard
Antony and Cleopatra

The last couple of couples didn't even have surnames.

Even some threesomes make the cut:

Patty, Maxine, and Laverne
Manny, Moe, and Jack
Larry, Curly, and Moe
Huey, Louie, and Dewey

If you don't recognize those trios, they're the Andrews Sisters, the Pep Boys, the Three Stooges, and Donald Duck's nephews.

Speaking of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, which we weren't but we shall now, have you ever wondered whether Meghan ever feels harried? (I made that up all by myself.)

Also, why does Shakespeare's wife remind us of a line from a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson? Answer: She lay her down with a will. (I made that one up too. The poem is "Requiem", by the way.)

Laugh it up, folks, these are the jokes. All groans will be counted as laughs.

What can I tell you? It has been a slow week.

A Day Late And A Dollar Short Department: I was going to tell Red that Alberta is east of British Columbia, not west, but Yorkshire Pudding got there first. I was going to tell John Grey that he misspelled the word solace, but Yorkshire Pudding once again beat me to it. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

The last sentence in the preceding pargraph has nothing whatsoever to do with your correspondent's gender identity, which is anything but fluid.

Until next time, I remain
Yr obdt svt

Yeah, right.

Third time might be charm

Perhaps the most famous cumulative story is "The Twelve Days Of Christmas" but I'm not going to tax your patience by boring you with it.

Instead, friends, I am going to treat you (treat, I say) to "The Twelve Days AFTER Christmas" by Frederick Silver, a man about whom I can find nothing except that this song of his was published in 1968.

"The Twelve Days After Christmas"
by Frederick Silver

The first day after Christmas my true love and I had a fight
And so I chopped the pear tree down and burned it just for spite
Then with a single ca-a-a-rtridge
I shot that blasted pa-a-a-rtridge
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me

The second day after Christmas I pulled on the old rubber gloves
And very gently wrung the necks of both the turtle doves
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me

The third day after Christmas my mother caught the croup
I had to use the three French hens to make some chicken soup

The four calling birds were a big mistake
For their language was obscene

The five golden rings were completely fake
And they turned my fingers green

The sixth day after Christmas the six laying geese wouldn't lay
I gave the whole darn gaggle to the A.S.P.C.A.**

On the seventh day what a mess I found
All seven of the swimming swans had drowned
My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me

The eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect
I bundled up the...
Eight maids a-milking
Nine ladies dancing
Ten lords a-leaping
Eleven pipers piping
Twelve drummers drumming
(Well, actually, I kept one of the drummers)
And sent them back collect

I wrote my true love "We are through, love"
And I said in so many words
"Furthermore, your Christmas gifts were for the birds."

In the music, the melody line holds out the last word, "birds", while the other parts sing "Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree".

** American Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals

Here endeth our focus on cumulative stories.

Thanks be to God.

Cumulative story number 2

After such a great groundswell of comments on my previous post -- there were exactly none, friends, zero (0), zilch -- I am not deterred. In this post you will be treated to a second cumulative story.

I first heard folk singer Burl Ives perform this song back in the 1950s or 1960s (decades run together when you're my age) and liked it immediately. It has been stuck in my brain ever since. If you haven't run across it before, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

"I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Fly"

I know an old lady who swallowed a fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a bird,
How absurd to swallow a bird!
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a cat,
Imagine that, to swallow a cat!
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a dog,
My, what a hog, to swallow a dog!
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a goat,
< Just opened her throat and swallowed a goat!
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog,
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a cow,
I don't know how she swallowed a cow?!
She swallowed the cow to catch the goat,
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog,
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her,
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
I don't know why she swallowed the fly,
Perhaps she'll die.

I know an old lady who swallowed a horse,
She's dead, of course!!


I know the mind can play tricks, but I remember the song as "I Know An Old Woman Who...", not "I Know An Old Lady Who..." but Burl Ives definitely sang Lady in the video I saw when researching this post.

Which is a good segue into our...

Thought For The Day: In the olden days a fellow could get away with saying that all ladies are women but not all women are ladies. In today's world, however, where LGBTQIAA+ folk seem to be everywhere, that statement might have additional meanings.

Cumulative story number 1

Here is a cumulative nursery rhyme that was first published in 1755 in London, England, but the story is thought to be much older. I have known it for about 75 years now (I am 80 for those of you who are wondering). It made me smile when I was a child and it makes me smile now.

You are hereby commissioned and entrusted with the task of providing your own mental pictures to accompany the story as it unfolds.

"This Is The House That Jack Built"

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the cheese that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat that chased the rat
That ate the cheese that lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the judge all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rooster that crowed in the morn
That woke the judge all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn
That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn
That woke the judge all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the horse and the hound and the horn
That belonged to the farmer sowing his corn
That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn
That woke the judge all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This has always been the end of the story, but on this very cold January day in the Year of Our Lord 2022 your correspondent composed yet another stanza:

This is the reader tired and worn
That read of the horse and the hound and the horn
That belonged to the farmer sowing his corn
That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn
That woke the judge all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog that worried the cat
That chased the rat that ate the cheese
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Few things are more satisfting than tampering with a classic, unless it's picturing you picturing yourself.

If you are very good, another cumulative story will be along shortly.

I, polyglot

I never make New Year's resolutions, but I decided late in December to try to learn to read Hebrew. So far I have completed four video lessons onlline out of a total of 11 in the course and am making good progress. You CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

I can read Greek (that is, I can pronounce the words even though I have no idea what most of them mean) and I have also attempted to learn to read Russian because I like a good challenge for my brain. It fascinated me that USSR became CCCP in Cyrillic.

I know a smattering of Swedish because I spent a month in Stockholm in 1969. I know a smattering of Albanian because my wife's parents spoke it (Tosk dialect as opposed to Gheg) in their home. I know a smattering of Spanish (maybe a little more than a smattering) because I live in the United States in the 21st century.

I studied French and Latin in school. I can say "How are you?" in Chinese and "Thank you" in Portuguese and "Goodbye" in Japanese and Italian and German. Speaking of German, I can also say Achtung! and Dummkopf.

When asked to demonstrate one's knowledge of French, one might hearken back to one's schooldays and say je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes, vous êtes, ils sont which means I am, you are, he is, we are, you are, they are. But I have a friend in Sweden who made me laugh back in 1969 when he demonstrated his French ability by saying je me lave, tu te laves, il se lave, nous nous lavons, vous vous lavez, ils ses lavent which means I wash myself, you wash yourself, he washes himself, we wash ourselves, you wash yourselves, they wash themselves.

I'm still laughing.

The hardest part of learning Hebrew, by the way, is that there are no vowels in the alphabet, just consonants. You probably won't believe how vowels are indicated even if I show you.

The odd thing is that ancient Hebrew had no vowels, all Torah scrolls have no vowels, and modern Hebrew (what is used in Israel today) has no vowels. Vowels were invented by the Masoretes of Tiberias in the fifth or sixth century A.D. (or C.E., if you prefer) so that non-speakers of Hebrew could read the books of the Old Testament.

I think Arabic also uses dots to indicate vowels, but I am not ready to tackle Arabic yet.

Maybe I don't have it in me to be a polyglot.

A quote from Robert Browning seems fitting here: "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?"

But I am still going to do my best to learn to read Hebrew.