A topsy turvy day

 

My UCLA granddaughter many years ago.

Truly we have had an upside-down day today. I thought I would report that Cricket, the Burtons fifteen-year-old Cavalier Spaniel, had been helped over the rainbow bridge. Jordan and Christian went to the vet for what sounded like a final decision and last visit, but Jordan insisted she wanted to see Cricket out of the oxygen tent and in an exam room. So they spent an hour watching Cricket walk in circles (she does that all the time), asking to be loved, not coughing, seeming fine. The vet shrugged and said, “Take her home.” So she’s home tonight, and the Burtons are keeping vigil over her. Jordan is exhausted, and even I am tired after being keyed up for the inevitable which turned out not to be after all.

There was sad news today though. I got word that an author who befriended me early in my career, became a good friend as well as a mentor, has died in Arizona. Jeanne Williams, prolific author of over eighty books under a variety of names, was a prominent and active member of Western Writers of America when I joined in the 1970s. Although I knew her principally as the author of historicals set in the American West, she also wrote fiction set in the United Kingdom. As for westerns, she was a pioneer in making women center in western fiction. She served as president of WWA, was an activist for animal rights, and a member of the survival team in her Chiricahua Mountain town of Portal, Arizona. Jeanne stopped actively publishing some ten or fifteen years ago but her books remain on sale from Amazon and other outlets. In a sad way, her passing reminds me how fleeting literary fame can be. She deserved more recognition than she got. I had not been much in touch with her in recent years—her letters had become infrequent and sometimes confusing. A widow, she had lost both her grown children tragically, and I was glad to hear that she was surrounded by love when she passed peacefully. Perhaps her best known title is Harvest of Fury, part of her post-Civil War trilogy set in Arizona.

For me, today was also an upside-down day in the world of taking care of business. For some time, I have been trying to figure out dental insurance. Until two years ago, TCU provided such for retirees; when that stopped, I took out a totally inadequate policy from a company I was told was respectable. I suffered through the first year when policies often pay little, but in the second year I expected better: they paid $73 on a $521 bill. Combine that with what I paid in monthly fees, and I was clearly upside down. But the world of insurance is a bewildering place for the lay person, and I was lost. Colin sent me a list of policies recommended for seniors. First on the list was a company underwritten by the very company I’d had trouble with—no, thanks. But second was Humana, and I have had Humana Medicare since I retired, so I called them. Turns out I have had dental insurance under my general health policy for years. Problem solved so easily I can hardly believe it! Then in an ironic PS I read today in the retirees' newsletter that TCU is about to offer a policy for retirees. When it rains, it pours.

But there’s a downside to my financial day: turns out that when I paid for the tree trimming, I only paid part of the bill, and I still owe a goodly amount for tree removal.

And in puzzling news, someone has twice charged Door Dash deliveries of shakes to my debit card. So I had to cancel the card, and the bank will credit my account and issue a new card. But how in the world did someone get my card number, especially since I rarely use it. I guess I’m lucky whoever used it wasn’t more extravagant.

I’m ready for an early bedtime after the “excitements” of today. Another bonus: It was a beautiful, sunny day in Texas, although a bit chilly. And my granddaughter at UCLA reports she is safe and dry. I’m feeling blessed.

 

A good day after all

The world hit me square on this morning with a myriad of problems: two health agencies with such similar names that I’ve paid the wrong one, and the one I should have paid sent me to a collection agency. Lord deliver me from that harassment. Think I got it sorted out, but my bank account shrank in the process. A computer back-up program wanted me to renew, but on investigation I found they hadn’t backed up my files in 224 days and won’t make restitution. Bills I thought I’d paid—a food magazine subscription and AARP; a survey to fill out about my primary care physician; a discussion with the home health care people wherein I offered to part amicably and they said, “No. Let us see what we can work out.” But then I didn’t hear from them again. And that’s how the morning went—a whole bunch of none of my own work done.

This afternoon made up for it. A visit with the surgeon earned me an excellent report—he’s pleased with my progress. He relieved me of some burdens—now I can cautiously bend to put on my left shoe, though the rest of my life, he warned, I should not push my luck. My confession that I am awkward and clumsy and nervous using a cane brought forth, “You’ll never hear me advocating for a cane. A walker is much safer.” If I use it longer than usual, well and good. He says one day walking will just happen. (I demonstrated later that it has not happened yet—pushing a grocery cart made my leg buckle and I limped.) Finally, he said I look better, have more facial expression. The whole thing made my day.

Betty and I went to Belk for our weekly Wednesday night dinner—I know, I know. It’s Tuesday. Food was good—delicious spinach bites, fried kibbeh good but not outstanding, a really good tabouli, and nice wine. It’s a chain restaurant, and I didn’t sense a chef in the back hand-preparing our meals.

A nice ending to the evening: usually I have to nag Jacob to take out my garbage, and we both end up angry. Tonight, one reminder and a bit of patience on my part, and he came out and announced, “I am so happy right now.” It seems he was writing a letter to his girlfriend. After he took my garbage out, he came back and read it to me—pretty darn eloquent. If he can do that at ten, the girls of his generation better watch out. He’s cute, charming, and now I find out he can write. And how many boys read their love letters to their grandmothers? I am blessed indeed.

You know what? I echo his statement. “I am so happy tonight.”