Everyday Strolls

Lots of folks are amazed, and delighted, by the enormous audiences which tune in when a West Virginia basketball or football game is aired on network television. How can such a small state wield such fan interest and enthusiasm you may well ask. Possibly, the immense popularity of John Denvers’ recording of "Take Me Home, Country Roads" (another story) has something to do with it. But also, I think, the Golden Horseshoe inspires every native West Virginia wherever they may now be living. Allow me to explain:

In 1716 Alexander Spotswood, lieutenant governor of Virginia, sponsored an expedition across the Blue Ridge mountains into what is now West Virginia. The purpose of this excursion was purely business to generate interest in the natural resources of the future state. To celebrate the successful journey, Spotswood had a golden horseshoe made and presented to each of the participants.

The West Virginia Golden Horseshoe program began in 1929 when historian Phil Conley proposed the creation of West Virginia Clubs, designed to inspire pride in the Mountain State. In 1931, the first Golden Horseshoe test was given and resulted in the awarding of pins to 87 8^th grade students throughout the state. These scholars were dubbed Knights and Ladies of the Golden Horseshoe and the tradition was born. Every year, all 8^th grade students are required to take two full semesters of West Virginia state history. The student scoring highest in each school on the final exam is awarded not only a miniature golden horseshoe pin but also a trip to Charleston, the state capitol. There the winning scholars are welcomed into the very exclusive Golden Horseshoe Society by the governor.

This year, on June 18^th, Governor and Mrs. Joe Manchin are welcoming former winners to Charleston in a reunion celebration. Nearly 1,000 participants are expected to attend. Since 1931, more than 15,000 West Virginia students have received the Golden Horseshoe Award in recognition of their hard work and knowledge of the state’s history. So, although many young adults may leave the state for economic reasons, they carry with them the history of the Mountain State whose motto is ‘Mountaineers Are Always Freemen.’

Yes, I was a winner in May of 1943. However, this being a war year there was gas rationing and so our Charleston trip was cancelled. So I have my reservation and will make the long delayed journey to Charleston to finally be proudly knighted by the governor in a special ceremony for those students who forfeited the trip during WW II. "Country roads take me home, to the place I belong, West Virginia...."

Hard times come and go and people do survive and go on. I guess I should add that is if they’re lucky to have a family like mine. My father always joked that I arrived just in time for him to celebrate the opening of the fall hunting season, so I was a good omen. That was October 8, 1929. Three weeks later came the crash but my father said the recession was the price paid for his new son. Of course he remains in my memory as a hero.

My parents had been residing in Florida since 1925 where my father worked as a construction foreman. His crews always won bonus money due to their hard work for which he set the example. In spite of losing his right arm at the age of 14 in a stupid gun accident, he could handle a wheelbarrow (with the aid of a rope sling sewn by my mother), wield a pick or shovel, drive a bulldozer and lay a fine line of masonry. He did all this and challenged his men with the statement, ‘If I can do this, then you can do it as well,’ and his crew worked all the harder to prove him right. But now, in late October, the project plunged into bankruptcy. End of job.

We drove ‘home’ to West Virginia in a cloth-topped coupe, arriving just in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with my great-uncle Arthur on the Phillips farm at Isner Creek, just outside of Elkins. We left the day after to drive to Kansas where my father had the promise of foreman on a new construction by the same company for whom he had worked for years in Florida. Just a day short of our destination, a sudden, early blizzard blocked all roads but we were fortunate in finding a ‘cabin’ as roadside motels were then called. My mother said we had some canned goods, the remainder of a loaf of bread and little else. Oh, and she was wearing open-toed, heeled slippers. dressed, as were we all, in summer clothes. We were hardly prepared to be trapped in a blizzard.

There was a small pot-bellied stove in the little two room cabin and my father sat up for two nights to keep the fire going. He napped some during the day while my mother tended to my brother and I and watched the stove. Nothing was moving and my father waded through the snow to fetch wood for the fire. Things did look bleak for us. On the third day the roads were open and we journeyed on into Kansas City and located the building site. My father had spent most of his remaining money on gas, my mother nursed me and she and my older brother dined on jelly bread. When we got to the construction site it was early evening but all work had stopped for the day and the only person there was a night watchman. Fortunately for us, he had worked with my father in Florida. This kind gentleman directed us to his apartment were his wife provided a hot meal and baths for all and we slept sprawled about on the floor and sofa of their living room.

The next day my father was given an advance on his salary and we found a furnished apartment and settled in. As my mother said, Kansas was a whole new world after Florida with much to be explored and enjoyed. She always remembered that it was a wonderful Christmas that year. We received, as usual, gifts from her mother and aunts, we had a place to live, my father had a good job again and we were all well. There was much to be thankful for. Of course what we didn’t know was that this construction would stop in bankruptcy as well the following March and we would be stranded in Kansas. But that is another story.

We all rush about so much, hustling to work, hurrying to get kids off to Little League, swimming, baton twirling or a dance class. Then it is time for a quick dinner and an evening out or, if you have a family, then its off to a recital or a soccer match. Even we Seniors have a full schedule! All of this bustle and we never, or at least rarely, take the time to look about us. To see what God has gifted us with in our daily lives - a pigeon wobbling after a crumb, a blue sky or indeed a rainy one - have you really taken the time to look at the sky recently? Or what others wear daily in the subway or at work; it can be an entertaining pastime; your son or daughter’s baseball outfit? How about the architecture which surrounds us? I truly see something new every day now that I take the time to look. Here in the city the wonder of the buildings, new and old, is captivating. And, at my Catskill retreat I spend hours just looking out from my sun room at the mountains and the fields and the lovely stream. I never tire of just looking and perhaps walking and discovering some plant or stone which I have not seen before.

I had lost another very good friend a number of years ago to AIDS. He (Hollis, not his real name) was a co-worker and we shared a love of theater and of gardening. He and his partner commuted from Westchester to the city namely because that allowed them to have a fairly large vegetable and flower garden. Their property was landscaped beautifully and obviously a work of love. The garden had a small rivulet which allowed for a diverse planting of moisture loving plants. One of these was Blood Root (Sanguinaria canadensis). It is an early bloomer, a harbinger of new life and a signal that the snow and cold have indeed passed. The American Indians attributed the boiling of its blood red roots and the tea so produced as a cure for bronchial coughs and general well being - not generally believed by our doctors of today. Its bloom is a single, fragile, white flower.

Recently I was going through a box of clippings and assorted cards and I came across the memorial from Hollis’s funeral of years ago. He had begun to write during his last year and his family had included one of his poems. It was a gentle reminder to me to look about. I offer it to you.

Will the blood root bloom next spring
if I’m not here to tend it?
Will the next tenant rake them away
with the autumn leaves?
Their blossoms wave like banners in the wind -
See me now they cry! See me now!

Thanks, Hollis.

THIS HAS BEEN AROUND ON THE INTERNET AND IN THE NEW YORK TIMES - IF YOU'VE SEEN IT, ENJOY IT AGAIN - IF NOT, READ ON TO MAKE YOUR DAY!!!!!!

Shown below, is an actual letter that was sent to a bank by an 86-year old woman. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times.

Dear Sir:

I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month.

By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it.

I refer, of course,to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire pension, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways.

I noticed that whereas I personally answer your telephone calls and letters, --- when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become.

From now on, I, like you,choose only to deal with a Flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income,debts,assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof. In due course,at MY convenience, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me.

I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say,imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Let me level the playing field even further.

When you call me,press buttons as follows:

IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIALING, PRESS THE STAR (*) BUTTON FOR ENGLISH

#1. To make an appointment to see me

#2. To query a missing payment.

#3. To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.

#4. To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping

#5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.

#6. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home

#7. To leave a message on my computer,a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated to you at a later date to that Authorized Contact mentioned earlier.

#8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.

#9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service.

#10. This is a second reminder to press* for English. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait,uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.

Regrettably,but again following your example,I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement. May I wish you a happy,if ever so slightly less prosperous New Year?

Your Humble Client.

(Remember: This was written by an 86 year old woman) 'YA JUST GOTTA LOVE ' US SENIORS' !!!!!

And remember: Don't make old ladies mad. They don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to set them off.

"Waste not, want not" is a time honored saying but it can be carried to an extreme and indeed is, far too frequently, among many Seniors. Of course collecting is one thing, hoarding is another. The main difference is that a hoarder obsesses about their stuff and a clutterer just lets it accumulate.

Clutter can lead to serious injuries and my Mother is a good example. She was talking on the telephone and moved to sit on the chair alongside. But several magazines were on the chair and she slid to the floor breaking her hip. Fortunately, she was speaking on the telephone and her friend called 911. During her first week of recovery in a hospital bed in her own home, she had me bring her one desk or bureau drawer at a time in order to go through them and sort, save, give to charity or toss. Moral: clutter can be bad. It can even lead to blocked exits in time of emergency and, in my Mother's case, serious injury.

But now to hoarding. AARP research tells us that 1.5% of the general population qualify as hoarders while cluttering affects many millions of people. However, the percentage is probably higher among Seniors and this might be attributed to the higher rate of seniors being alone, or at least the feeling of being alone. Truly, many of us do not have loving family members close at hand and so hoarded objects can begin to take their place in our homes, our minds and our hearts. Silly thought?! Not a bit. And just why do you talk to that stuffed animal?

The habit of hoarding can have many sources. It might have begun in the Depression Years when everything was saved and tried to be used again because there just wasn't that much of anything. So it could have been taught by parents, or be the result of extreme poverty in childhood, or the loss of not having control and so one 'saves', the sense of losing everyone and everything as one becomes more infirm. Those of us who remember rationing during WWII can well recall the need for more sugar, meat or gasoline. Obviously, reasons for hoarding can be many and should include just plain old procrastination.

So what does one do when hoarding begins to overwhelm? Seek help first of all. But you can also, in some cases, treat the issue not the stuff. Ask yourself if you really need to 'save' another Chinese take-out tray or empty cottage cheese container. Throw out what is really useless and take the time to sort out things which might possibly be repaired and those which might be of benefit to someone else such as Housing Works or The Salvation Army.

There are known instances when a person actually 'saves' a dose of medication on the fear that they will run out of the prescription, thus missing the necessary dosage. There is also the very real problem in some cases of lack of funds to pay for further medications. In such instances professional help is called for. Sometimes a social worker or even a friend could be of value. But even this help is not always available. Just speaking with someone might start you on your way to ending the clutter in your home and begin to make an inroad on your habit of hoarding and the eventual discovery of why you do it.

My first impression proved, ultimately, to be correct - that it was too good to be true. 'It' being a half page ad in the freebie newspaper, Metro. The ad broadcast the wonderful news of an about-to-be-built senior housing project on West 57th Street in Manhattan. Not only were the studios and one-bedroom rentals below one thousand dollars a month, but the cut-off on income levels were, for a change, well above the usual figure of $26,000. I did question the fee of $5 in the form of a money order to receive an application but I figured that Mr. Blomberg lost along with the rest of us in the current financial crisis and the city is in dire straights financially. So I hiked off to the Post Office, bought my money order and mailed it to the listed post office box.

Several days later I received a telephone call from a very well spoken gentleman who identified himself with his name and the information that he was a federal investigator. He asked me if I had mailed a letter to the particular p.o. box and when I answered in the affirmative he asked me the details of the mailing. I explained the ad, that I was a senior citizen, etc. and he thanked me and explained that there was an investigation of the high level of activity at this particular p.o.box. He then asked if he could open my letter and I said of course. He gave me his telephone number and said I would hear further from him and if not, to please give him a call in a few days.

That Sunday, out of curiosity, I walked over to West 57th Street and found that the listed address for the proposed housing project was the site of Steinway Hall! So much for the senior housing project! I waited until Tuesday and called the FBI. The kindly gentleman who took my call said they had no one by the name I gave them and asked for the name and telephone number or address for the agent who had called me. I gave him the information and he said he would get back to me. Fifteen minutes later my phone rang and it was the investigator who had called me the previous week. He said, "Mr. Phillips, I am not with the FBI, I am a federal U.S. Postal Services Investigator, a department which was originated by Benjamin Franklin in 1787." He said that the FBI had just contacted him regarding my telephone inquiry; he also informed me that an arrest had been made the previous day in the obvious scam for the senior housing project on West 57th Street. Later that night, the FBI called me back and said indeed the gentleman in question was an investigator for the U.S. Postal Service and that I should cooperate with him. They then thanked me for my trouble.

So - am I upset over the scam? Well, no, not at all. Actually, I am quite pleased to discover that the Federal Investigation Department of the U.S. Postal Service is so 'on the job' and that the FBI is so cooperative, well informed and thorough, not to mention their courtesy - all for a wise old owl like myself, who is always on the lookout for credit card theft and scams, but who had suckered to the bait like an innocent lamb. I am also grateful to Benjamin Franklin who set up the investigative system that protects seniors like me - not to mention his stove, the first library and the first fire department, among other things. So, let's hear it for Ben!

That's right, 102 of them fancy, lace trimmed, red valentines. And all for my Mother, Valentina, who celebrated her 102nd birthday on Valentine's Day. I was there to give her a small party of her close friends and neighbors in West Virginia.

I speak of her birthday here, first because she is a senior but also because she has been a role model for me and others in my home town. She has been a volunteer ever since I can remember. First with the cub/boy scouts, then the school bands, and every civic function you can think of from the Fire Department to the County Library, always with a fancy cake for the fund raising cakewalks or dinners. Then, with her fledglings gone from the nest, she turned to The Homemakers, her lodges of the Rebekahs and Odd Fellows and, of course, years and years of service to the local hospital.

She taught me not only to volunteer but to be ready to take the place of any one who cancelled at the last minute. I can remember so many suppers when the telephone would ring and, taking the call, she would turn to us and say, "Well so-and-so can't make it, I gotta go." And she would head off to take the canceled volunteer's place. She also taught me the importance of volunteering. I heard her speak once to her county chapter of The Homemakers as she explained volunteering: "Just think of your churches, after school programs, the fire and police departments, the library and of course the hospital, to name a few - all dependent on volunteers to fully function. Without volunteers they just couldn't do all that they do. And you know what? You can call it volunteering if you like, and that is fine - but I have come to call it 'civilization.’ I used to think the word civilization was found in a big book up on the hill in the college library. But it’s not. Civilization is all of us helping one another by volunteering."

And so folks (a favorite expression of hers) I pay tribute to her as a senior and a volunteer on her 102nd birthday. Now, what are you waiting for, she only resigned at the hospital and as treasurer for 19 years of the Rebekahs when she was 99. So get with it - VOLUNTEER - whether it be at OATS, your church or an organization of your choice. And Happy Belated Valentine's Day!

We all remember certain days and where we were and what we were doing at that particular time in our lives. I have added the recent inauguration of President Obama to my list. Although I had been invited, along with hundreds of others, to view the event at City Hall - invited by New York City's own Princess of Politics, Christine Quinn - I chose to stay at home and watch it alone. I didn't want any distraction and truly wanted to savor this historic moment by myself.

Knowing Washington, DC quite well from my college summers waiting tables at the old Hot Shoppes, I could visualize it all in spite of the swirling mobs of visitors. The grandeur of the Lincoln Memorial, the Reflecting Pool inspiring us to remember and reflect, the awesome needle of the Washington Monument and the grand Capitol Building - its echoing corridors filled with ghosts of America's political past, the central vaulted chamber, the north and south entrances - I had visited all of them many times. And now, on this historic day, truly a pathway for America and all its folks, not only those who were physically present.

Just seeing the innocent, joyful faces of our new First Daughters tells us so much. They are so obviously part of a loving, caring family and carry with their very presence the promise of their parents - the promise to look after America with the same love and respect that they show Malia and Sasha. And the stunning First Lady, Michelle Obama, dazzling all with her choice of a yellow brocade outfit which made its own statement of hope and new horizons and glowing like a bright beam of sunshine on this cold winter's day.

And our new president, Barack Obama. The simplicity of his speech - brief, yet filled with strength and a message for all, breathtaking in its inclusiveness and specificity. Hail to the Chief indeed. It was gratifying to learn that I was not the only one moved to tears of relief and joy and hope as this magnificent day unfolded in our new year of 2009. All thanks to our new president, Barack Obama.

The New Year is many different things to many different people. First comes to mind the extraordinary 'ball' that drops in Times Square. This 12 foot geodesic sphere is covered with 2,668 Waterford crystals and lit by 32,256 Philips Luxeon Rebel LEDS - it boggles the mind and astonishes the eye as its slow descent welcomes the new year - my year of 2009 or, if you wish, the Jewish year of 5,769 or the Chinese year of 4,706. Take your pick - after all, it is New Year's. The very first 'ball' was crafted in 1907 by the metalworker, Jacob Starr and weighed only 700 pounds and was 5 feet in diameter. However, the Times Square vigil began 3 years earlier in 1904.

And everyone warbles their way through 'Auld Lang Syne', the Scottish song first published in 1796 by Robert Burns. However, what is its origin? Burns transcribed it and made some changes after hearing it sung by an old man from Burn's homeland, the Ayrshire area of Scotland. And where did the old man learn it? Curious and a wonderful thought indeed. The song itself literally translates as "old long since" and means "times gone by." The song asks whether old friends and times will be forgotten and promises to remember folks of the past with fondness. A lovely and time honored thought. (My thanks here, once again, to OATS for teaching me the Internet and its treasure of information!)

Of course many of us watch the lush Rose Parade preceding the always captivating Rose Bowl game (it matters not who is playing). Indeed the first day of the New Year is filled with bowl games which are playoffs for contending collegiate football teams. Some folks scoff at all these games but besides the entertainment which they offer they are a source of pride to alumni and the respective standings of teams can determine the fundraising for the coming year for a particular school. These colleges and universities are so important for the education of our younger generation.

Then we have all the Polar Bear clubs around the globe of which the Coney Island group is the oldest having begun their insane (to many) dip in frigid waters in 1903. It has long been the time for new resolutions and the doing away with, if possible, bad habits. It is a wonderful time to evaluate your goals and life and perhaps resolve to make changes or at least try harder. Many different countries exchange gifts and have their own traditions. Suffice for me to close here in saying that I am grateful for my health, the prospect of the New Year, a new, exciting president for our country and the ability to record my thoughts here, courtesy of Older Adults Technology Services. To everyone - good health, good fortune and the ability to enjoy it all.

In my early years when Santa Claus paid his annual visit I was full of questions about him. Early on my parents had explained that many homes, like ours, did not have a fireplace and chimney because modern heating with stoves was much more practical. Santa Claus knew this and so gained access to leave our presents through an open window. The day after this explanation I checked our porch roof over the living room window which would be left open for him. I was concerned how he would get from the roof of the porch to reach the open window since he was used to climbing down chimneys. When questioned, my Mother wisely said, “Ask your Father.” My Father looked at me when I asked him, hesitated just a moment, and then said, “Oh, that’s easy. I always lean the ladder against the porch roof so he can climb right down." Sure enough, Christmas Eve I watched as my Father leaned a ladder against the porch roof. The window was left open just a crack and on the table beside the opened widow was a glass of milk, a little plate of cookies and a napkin. And so Christmas morning my mad dash was not to the Christmas Tree to see what Santa Claus had left but rather to see if the milk glass had been emptied and if the cookies were gone. Only then would I scurry to check the tree and my Christmas Stocking. And the ladder went up every Christmas Eve as long as Santa Claus visited me.

I don’t leave a ladder for Santa Claus anymore because he climbs the stairs to reach my 6th floor, walk-up apartment. But I do aid him with other ladders and you can too. I say ‘ladders’ as another word for ‘help.’ That can mean an old, unused winter coat for someone who is homeless, volunteering to work with God’s Love We Deliver, helping out at any number of senior centers or the local ‘Y’ or your church of choice. Why not pick up a 'Letter To Santa Claus' from the Post Office and make some kid happy. You can even help buy anything from a chicken to a goat to a bull for some family in a third-world country through Heifer International (800-422-0755 - www.heifer.org/catalog). There are all kinds of ladders waiting to be put to use by all kinds of folks. So do your part in helping Santa Claus reach everyone in our wonderful world. Have a happy holiday and pray/wish/hope for peace in our time. Oh, yes, and don’t forget the milk and cookies!