A-F

I mentioned some time ago that we were shredding old files. We previously disposed of a lot of out-dated financial records, private as well as business. Today it was vacation files.

We've been to a lot of places and in addition to bringing back fond memories, we collected maps, sight-seeing brochures, hotel and rental car bills and other assorted items you acquire on a trip of a week or more. They're supposed to be memorabilia and to some extent they are. Mostly, they just collect dust.

What triggered today's disposal binge was something a friend said recently. They were going someplace we had visited. We offered them our maps and brochures. Thanks, they said, but we can get all that information from the web.

Reality struck! All this stuff lurking in the basement was useless. We too could access the web if we needed information about any place on earth.

Up from the basement came two storage boxes of travel folders. Did I mention my wife puts everything in a folder?

So today we started with Amsterdam, Arizona, Brussels, California, Colorado, Costa Rica, Eastern Europe (which we never got to), Florida, France and probably some others I can't remember because I wasn't thinking of writing about them until they were all in the shredder.

Next up, box two: G-Z.

We hope our son appreciates the work we're saving him.

Catching on, reluctantly

For most of this year I've been blogging about how the new, newer and newest technology dominates so many lives. Not mine, of course, because I'm well out of the 24/7 loop.

However, I did witness an intelligent display of technology right in my own home this afternoon. We had the pleasure of a visit from my son, Rob, and grandson, Ben. As usual, my wife offered them some of our no-longer needed possessions.

Back story: this is exactly what her mother used to do to us whenever we visited. Gee, thanks, Mom, but we really don't need (or want) this, that or the other tchotchke (would you believe this word is in the dictionary?). Sometimes, not to embarrass her, we would take an item and then quietly dispose of it.

Guess what? That's what our kids do to us now. I guess it's a generational thing and we understand it. Here's the update, though.

We have some very nice French Limoges soup bowls we did take from my mother-in-law's treasure trove. Since Rob's daughter, Samantha, an art history major, is very much into French these days, we asked him if he thought she might like them.

Wait, he said, I'll send her a picture and see what she says. He whips out his smart phone, takes the picture and within minutes gets a response from Sam that she loves the bowls and would relish having them. Score one for technology.

I still don't need a smart phone but I have to admit it worked for us all today.

And, by the way, Rob and Ben each left with two sweaters I no longer wear.

Score one for the grandparents.

Spats

You may know the word “spat” as a four-letter clue in a crossword puzzle. You also may recognize it as what happens when you have a misunderstanding with your significant other that gets slightly out of hand.

We had one of those recently (since resolved) which reminded me of a more obscure meaning of the word. Persons of a certain age will recall spats as an article of clothing for the feet. Some fashionistas may still advocate their use. Other than covering poorly shined shoes, I never could figure out their purpose.

Basically, spats are made of thick cloth and cover the instep to the ankle. You buttoned them on. In fact, the buttons are part of the visual impact. The dictionary says spats even may reach higher than the ankle. To wear spats showed you were “the cat's meow,” a flapper-era expression describing the well-dressed man or woman of that era.

I remember my father wearing pearl gray spats with black buttons. They went well with his homburg hat, overcoat and cigar. He cut a dashing figure.

I'm pretty sure Jimmy Cagney sported spats when he played George M. Cohan in the movie, “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Did Fred Astaire also wear them in his earlier movies with his sister Adele and/or Ginger Rogers? Maybe. My memory isn't that good.

Anyway, keep an eye out for spats. They could be the next retro fashion statement.

And if you come across “spat” in a crossword puzzle, try “tiff.” Or vice versa.

If you’re otherwise involved in either, it's best to make up quickly. A hug will usually do the trick.

Reverse Happiness

I get perverse satisfaction listening to traffic reports on radio these days. The daily congestion on the roads, tunnels and bridges is mind-boggling.

I haven't been part of that scene for some time. I commuted from New Jersey to New York City for more than 40 years. Initially, I drove into the city before becoming a bus passenger. Busing was better. Even then delays were expected.

To get to work on time, I usually left home early. I had plenty of reading material and some snacks for trip home. Snowstorms were the worst. The buses either couldn't get into the Port Authority or when they left became part of the inchway-on-the-highway.

The longest ride I had from the city to my parked car 17 miles away was over five hours. Then I had to barrel out of a snow drift and coax the car home through streets covered in deep snow. Fortunately, I was driving a stick-shift VW Rabbit with front wheel drive and it performed beautifully.

It wasn't as bad as sitting in a plane on the tarmac for hours, although I've been through that as well. The longest stretch was six hours at La Guardia Airport and it had nothing to do with weather. While waiting for take-off a passenger died of a heart attack. We had to wait for the authorities to remove the victim.

The point of all this is that while I sympathize with all business travelers, I'm glad I'm out of the mix.

I'm tagging it “reverse happiness.”

Aftermath

We're back to normal now after the freak Halloween storm. With a few improvements.

We now have a backup sump pump in case we lose power again. That should keep the basement dry.

Our electrician repaired and upgraded our entire wiring system.

Our landscaping service removed the large tree limb that fell across our patio and even removed some branches from the roof of our den. They also cleaned up the back yard, which has never looked so neat. I don't expect that to last too long.

But the last few days have not been entirely without incident. During her exercise class last Friday, my wife tripped over someone's misplaced weights, landing on both knees. Fortunately it was more of a gentle stumble. Our orthopedist told her to expect some swelling and tenderness but little of either occurred.

I, on the other hand, woke up Sunday morning with a pain in my chest. Taking no chances, we called the First Aid Squad which took me to Mountainside Hospital. I had to stay overnight but all tests were negative for heart disease. I came home this afternoon with blood pressure medication.

Nothing makes you appreciate life more than a glimpse of the alternative.

60 Hours, Day Four

Tuesday, Nov. 1. Still no power. Crawled out of bed, quickly dressed, put on boots and checked the water level in the basement. Yikes! Now eight inches and getting very close to an electrical socket on the basement wall.

I called our electrician to ask whether it would be dangerous if the water reached that socket, only a few inches away. He didn't think so, which wasn't a very comforting answer.

As we were having breakfast at about 10:15 a.m., THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON! Hallelujah! The best thing was the heat started coming up and the sump pump began working. We turned off all the unnecessary lights but just as we were getting warm THE LIGHTS WENT OUT AGAIN!

We were crushed; visions of more powerless hours raced through our minds. But wait: THE POWER CAME ON AGAIN AND THIS TIME IT STAYED. It was 10:30 a.m., 60 hours after the blackout.

What about the basement? With the pump working again, the surface water drained off within an hour, leaving only a wet floor. We could deal with that. BUT, the water heater was still out of commission. That meant another day without hot water until our plumber could check it tomorrow.

Meantime, my wife called our insurance company and they could not have been more accommodating. A representative arrived that afternoon, surveyed our basement and back yard and scheduled a visit from a cleanup crew also for Wednesday, Nov. 2, which promised to be a busy day.

Looking ahead, we're expecting an adjuster on Monday, Nov. 7 to tell us what we can expect in the way of an insurance claim. Our electrician also will be here Monday to repair exterior power lines and replace a number of old outlets in the house.

In the meantime, the Verona Public Works Department has done a fantastic job clearing the streets of debris. We still have to weave around downed limbs as we drive through town but we CAN get through.

We feel for those elsewhere who still don't have power and we wish them well. For the moment, however, we're good to go.
Tomorrow will be a busy day. Stay tuned.

60 Hours, Day Three

Monday, October 31: first thing I did was check the water level in the basement. Sunday morning it was two inches. Now it was four inches and rising along with our anxiety level. Nothing we could do since our electricity-driven sump pump was not working.

We had been nursing our remaining hot water for two full days so we thought we'd try showering. Two quick showers and that was the end of the hot water.

Earlier, town work crews came through and pushed fallen tree limbs out of the street and onto our lawns. It was the first time we could venture safely out of the driveway.

Now able to move about, I went shopping for ice to salvage what we could of our perishables. The first shopping area I went to was closed. No power. Ditto my doctor's offices elsewhere in the neighborhood (I needed a copy of a report; not an emergency).

Forewarned, I called ahead to my car dealer two towns over to see if they could fix my auto's remote control. They were open for business and fixed the remote quickly. As it happened, I was near the supermarket we normally frequent so I buzzed over there to find they, too, were closed for lack of power.

Came home and reviewed our options. We needed that ice to keep the freezer chilled and save any foodstuffs that needed refrigeration. A Foodtown supermarket in Cedar Grove, one town over, had not lost power and they had ice. We bought three bags.

We have friends in Cedar Grove who also had power as well as a huge tree in front of their house, blocking their driveway and front door. We offered to share our “threatened” flank steak with them in exchange for dinner and a few hours of warmth. To get there, we walked through snow-covered grass to their back door. Greeted by Max, their friendly, rather large mixed- breed-mostly-shepherd dog.

Our gracious hosts had another “powerless” couple seeking refuge with them so the six of us had delicious grilled flank steak. Our hosts provided the trimmings along with a welcome glass of wine.

After warming up for a couple of hours we went home to another night in a dark and cold house, where a bag of 150 pieces of candy sat waiting for the trick-or-treaters who were canceled by Mother Nature's freak Halloween snow storm.

If you think this story is endless, think how we felt living it.

(To be continued, really)