Smells of the non-Season

My twenty-three pound turkey in my twenty-four pound turkey-sized oven.

 

The last few times Sam and I have gone grocery shopping, we've toyed with the radical off-season idea of buying a still-in-stock, still-cheap, frozen turkey. But like so many ideas we’ve toyed with before, we (meaning me) never actually went through with it. 

Part of the reason for this (speaking specifically frozen-turkey-wise) is because our refrigerator is too crammed full of once food-like items of an unknown variety and an unknown age, to even think about cramming in a frozen turkey. Buying a frozen turkey might mean that I would be forced to clean out the refrigerator - or at the very least, clean out a turkey-sized spot in the refrigerator.

But last weekend we went for it. Before we left of our latest death-defying trip to the grocery store, I cleared out a turkey-sized spot in the refrigerator and we went and bought our usual, family-size twenty-three pound frozen turkey (even though our home is currently at below family-size) - and today, I’m cooking it.

As the smell of roasting turkey fills the air, a couple of things occur to me.

First of all, I think this is the only time I’ve ever cooked a turkey when it wasn’t either Thanksgiving or Christmas. I love the smell of roasting turkey but this feels a little odd and a little out of place.

Also, not being Thanksgiving or Christmas, this means I don’t think I've ever cooked a turkey when the entire family wasn’t around. Oh sure, there might have been a Thanksgiving or two when someone either couldn’t make it or at best, had to eat and run, but those don’t count.

It makes me feel very nostalgic. And when I feel nostalgic, this often means contemplating fond memories - before rapidly cascading into borderline depression.

And since I'm halfway there anyway, I decided to go all in and light a balsam-scented candle. I figure, if I’m going to be depressed, I might as well go for the full effect.

Tonight's Weather

It's snowing...again! The good news is that this time, instead of it being light and fluffy, it's heavy and wet. I'm taking this to mean that spring must be right around the corner.

Evening Rituals

Occasionally, in the long ago, pre-pandemic, still in school, days, Sam and his then job coach would take a break from whatever it was they were doing and stop at a local coffee shop where his job coach would buy a cup of coffee (I assume) and Sam would buy an apple juice (I also assume) and often, Sam would buy a copy of the local newspaper.

Sam and his job coach would sit in the coffee shop and sometimes do a little work together. Other times, they would just take a break - the job coach would spend some time typing away on his laptop, usually sending me an update about Sam, and Sam would read the newspaper.

As I'm sure I've also mentioned before (and will likely continue to mention) Sam would sit and read quietly, out load, in a style that this former job coach accurately described as "un-rushed." This was Sam's style back then and this is Sam's style now.

Since the pandemic though, Sam has, unfortunately, been forced to stop buying the local newspaper. Instead, we started a subscription to the newspaper's online digital version. It's been a good investment.

Over the last many months since subscribing, at some point, it has become an important part of our nightly, pre-bedtime ritual. Sam comes down from his shower, sits down at the computer, then calls over to me and asks if I wanted to read a couple of articles with him. The answer, no matter how tired I am, is always, "Sure!".

I somehow manage to haul myself off the couch, head over to the table, spin the dining room chair around and I plunk myself down next to Sam as he scrolls through the day's stories. One-by-one he reads through the headlines and together we make a decision about which stories sound interesting enough to delve into further and which ones we want to avoid.

Favorite stories involve things such as helping the needy or stories about food banks and meals programs, stories about Warm-the-Children drives and stories about helping the homeless. Cute animal stories are also at the top of the list. 

Least favorite stories include anything involving violence, stories about someone not being considerate to someone else, or greedy, self-interested political grifters. (All too often, many of these stories include all three.) Stories about lives lost or loved ones lost are also not on our list of favorites - even though sometimes we'll read them anyway.

When Sam is done reading, I'll lean over, give him a brief hug, kiss him on the head - and thank him for keeping me updated. I usually say something along the lines of, "Thanks, Sam. I wouldn't know what was going on if it wasn't for you." (Which, by the way, is true.) And even though he always answers with a "you're welcome," I sometimes wonder if this part of our ritual matters to him one way or the other- or is it something he puts up with for my benefit.

The other night, when Sam finished reading the nightly updates, I was a little slow with my usual lines. Sam turned and looked at me, leaned over, gave me a big hug - and thanked me for reading with him. 

Maybe this was only for my benefit...and maybe it wasn't. Either way, I'll take it.

Lessons from Art

This little piece of artwork, created long ago by Jake, turned up on a scrap of paper today...

Clearly there is a message in here somewhere, though I'm not 100% sure what it is. 

I know it (obviously) has something to do with Legos. Just how, I'm not sure. 

Each of the distinguished contestants seem to be holding what looks like either a megaphone or a bottle of liquor. I'm going to go with the bottle of liquor. 

I think if there is a message in here it's something along the lines of, if you want to be a winner, it helps if you wear a ninja mask. 

Very true.

Recreation Break

While I'm working on filling out forms (ahem), and possibly making some chicken soup with Sam later this afternoon, here are a few photos from past walks - walks we go on too infrequently these days - taken at different times of the year. The winter views are from a couple of weeks back, the others are from last fall... or maybe the previous fall... or maybe the fall before that. It all blurs together. (Click to enlarge, I think.)...

 

 

These two photos were taken at the entrance to the Bridge of Death (Pedestrian Only version) and look north up the river towards the other Bridge of Death (Motor Vehicle & Insane Pedestrian version).

...

 

This all-too-familiar scene (come to think of it, these are probably all "all-too-familiar" scenes) was taken looking south down the river, while standing on the previously mentioned, Pedestrian Only version Bridge of Death*.

 

And this, even though no one asked, is a merged copy of the two.

...

Here's a view of the pond in Neighboring Town #2, looking north.
 

And here, even though no one asked (again), is a merged version of the two. Lovely, right? (Don't answer if you disagree.)

...

That's it for now. My recreation break is over. Back to the forms (ahem). Maybe I'll do more of these some other time (but maybe not). Regardless, thanks for joining me.

 

*Disclaimer: It should be assumed that all  future references to "the Bridge of Death" is in reference to the "Pedestrian Only" Version, not to the "Motor Vehicle & Insane Pedestrian" version (unless noted otherwise).

Trudging Through the Mud

Pretty flowers.

I know I said I wasn't going to talk about those forms again - at least, I think that's what I said. If that was what I said, apparently, I lied. Again. (For those keeping score, Ha! Good luck!)

With that disclaimer out of the way, here's today's update... So, I made copies of the forms and have been working on them all week. I filled out these copies as best I could, in pencil, scratching off words here and there, rearranging sentences to try and form something semi-coherent, while also attempting to at least give the illusion that I might know what I was talking about. These copies are my dress rehearsal. 

While I've made it most of the way through the fifteen pages, there were a few questions I couldn't answer. I met with Sam's aforementioned caseworker and as I aforementioned, these forms were indeed all new to her. Luckily, the outfit she works for has a resident SSI expert that she said she could get in touch with "for clarification" (her words) and hopefully, "for enlightenment" (my words). This meeting was on Wednesday. 

Today, Friday, the caseworker got a response and relayed it to me. While it was helpful on a couple of the questions. It opened another potential can of worms. And I hate cans of worms.

My question was whether or not SSI might ask (i.e.: "demand") that Sam have another neuropsychological evaluation. It's been four years since his last one, which would make that particular evaluation the most recent of three, possibly four of them (it's hard to keep it all straight). 

It makes no sense to me that SSI might want another one. After all, none of the evaluations contradicted anything on the previous ones. Rather, each one built on the one before, offering more clarity.

In all the years, nothing has changed (drastically) in Sam's core issues. Nothing has changed (drastically) in Sam's core behaviors. He is, like pretty much most of us, who he is. Testing Sam further would be like testing me to see if I was still color blind (I am). It would make no sense - which is why it bothers me. Very little of this ever makes sense.

Anyway, I asked the question about the prospect of yet another neuropsychological evaluation, and this, in part, was the response...

"I would advise his family to request a BPQY or a benefits planning query. That will tell you the dates of physicals. And yes fill it out if it applies to when he was disabled and collecting."

Physicals? Who's talking about physicals? And what's this about filling out something else - something that I was, apparently, insane enough to request? Not to mention the, "when he was disabled". What are you talking about? He's always been disabled. 

The explanation went on from there but it did the opposite of clarify anything for me. To quote one of my long ago former employees, "I'm confused".

Reading and rereading this response, I found my mind wandering back to an old job supervisor I briefly knew. This would have been about twenty-five years ago. His name, as best as I can recall, was Don. Don and I were working together on the same job. For me, it was my first job at my "new, old work" (as opposed to my "old, old work").  For Don, it was his last job at however long he had been working for the company he was then working for. 

After this particular job was finished, Don would be finished too -permanently. It would be retirement for him - if the job didn't kill him first. He hated that job. Maybe he hated all of the jobs he ever worked on - but this was the only one I ever worked on with him. 

I'm guessing Don was around seventy at the time, though he looked closer to a hundred and thirty. He spent most of his day trudging slowly back and forth through the late winter mud,heading from his job trailer into the job site - and back again - all the while hunched over, puffing on a cigarette which was permanently balanced on his lower lip - always with a half inch of ash arcing down from the tip. And always muttering to himself, saying, "I hate that f'***in' guy" over and over again.

This was Don's mantra. (The "f***in' guy",  as I quickly found out, was the impossible to please owner of the project.)

Inside Don's job trailer, Don had a sign pinned up. The sign had been enlarged and printed out on one of those old fax machines - the kind that over-pixelated everything, making it look like a bad photograph of a bad cave painting.

I once made a comment about the sign and Don thoughtfully ran off a copy for me. 

While I long ago learned that the sign, at least in terms of the words, was not original to Don, I often think of it, and I think of Don. It read...

We have not succeeded in answering all your questions.

The answers we have found only serve to raise a whole new set of questions.

In some ways we feel we are as confused as ever,

but we believe we are confused on a higher level and about more important things.

It's been over twenty-five years since I worked with Don. But from time to time, there are days when I'm reminded of him. I picture him hunched over, trudging back and forth endlessly through the late winter mud, grumbling under his breath the entire time - but still going. Still fighting.

 

And I think of his sign. 

 

Today was one of those days.

My Weekend Plans...

 

 

 

 ...include filling out a fifteen page form I received earlier this week from SSI. This form, like previous ones, is so they can make sure Sam still has legitimate disabilities. This particular form is a new one though, and I guess not only to me. 

 

When I mentioned to Sam's caseworker that I had received it, her reaction was, "Oh, yes. I'm familiar with that one." When I then mentioned that it was fifteen pages long, she said, "What? That's a new one by me! I'm not familiar with that one at all!!!"

 

Comforting words.

 

Anyway, I've written about these kinds of things plenty of times before and don't need to pontificate on this any further - and I won't... unless this somehow gets worse. 

In other words, stay tuned.