BOOM1 BOOM! BOOM!

 

Life has a way of delivering punches to the gut just when you think things are calming down. 

That's what happened this past week.

As I was pulling in our garage from our Daily Ride, I was feeling good about keeping our expenses down this month. I was thinking "I can actually save some money this month." HA!

As I was thinking this I saw the dreaded "Tire check" light on my dashboard. Oh no! 

I had that light a couple of weeks ago. I checked the air pressure in my tires and found the culprit. It was my right left rear tire. I filled it up to 32 air pressure and that dreaded dashboard light went out. 

Now it was on again. Okay, I know what it is. About a year ago I had a near flat. I took our car to my local trusted garage and "Herb" discovered a LARGE nail embedded in my tire. Great (sarcasm)! Herb put a large patch on my tire. I thought that fixed the problem. Well it did for awhile, but now the problem was back. Off to the garage. 

Herb checked the tire and said that's what it was, a "slow leak."

He said he had already put the largest patch on it and the bad news was that the tire had to be replaced. The even worse news was that that tire, Uniroyal, was no longer available. It was discontinued, of course. I would have to buy FOUR new tires. Total cost $915.49. OUCH!

There goes my "savings" for this month. What really hurts is that the tires I have now still have great treads. I purchased them brand new in 2018 for my 2010 Subaru Forester which had the original tires. Okay, calm down Ron. At least you have money in reserve to pay for this unexpected expense.

Then as I was finally able to semi-relax and get back to my normal routine, I detected a familiar smell from under our kitchen sink. It was the smell of standing water. 

A couple of years ago I had a leak in my spray nozzle. I'm thinking, "It can't be that, I'm so careful." Well, it wasn't THAT. Upon further investigation I discovered the leak was coming from my garbage disposal. Yes, THAT garbage disposal that I paid $174 to have reset last month. I finally adjusted myself to accepting that unnecessary expense and here I have yet ANOTHER leak. 

Time to call my plumber.  This is going to be expensive. He arrives the next morning and yes, my garbage disposal is shot. This garbage disposal which I rarely use (I put all my garbage in my compost pile at the corner of our almost one acre lot next to the cornfield). He asked me how old my garbage disposal was. I told him that it was brand new with the house, 2006.  He said he's seen this so often, the garbage disposals usually "rust out after 12 to 15 years." New garbage disposal $787.00.  Of course that includes installation and my discount for being a member of their service plan. 

You know folks it would be funny if it wasn't so sad. 

Again, we're lucky here because I do have a reserve fund for emergencies like this. But talk about planned obsolescence. 

Bill and I lived in our Pennsylvania house for twenty five years. Never once did we have to replace our garbage disposal, get all new tires when one tire went flat or even a whole new HVAC system which I had to get several years ago because the original HVAC that came with house that only lasted TEN years. That little baby cost us over $10,000. 

As I'm typing this blog, I hear Bill choking on his morning custard. His esophagus is shot. We can't get him a new one at his age. The last time at the hospital they recommended that he get his good through a stomach tube. We're not doing that. We're managing. Just like we're managing with all these unexpected bills. 

Maybe next month we'll get a break.

Happy 95th Birthday To Bill!

Today is Bill's 95th birthday! 

During our weekly visit to our favorite local fruit and veggie stand (I always get fresh corn) in Milton, the gals found out it was Bill's birthday and wanted to wish him a "Happy Birthday!" 

Of course Bill was mortified and is recovering now but what a nice gesture those ladies did for Bill. 

Happy Birthday Bill!

"Tara" and Bill. She always makes a fuss over him when I stop by to pick up my weekly infusion of fresh corn and peaches.

Random Thoughts While Tropical Storn Oplehlia Rages Through Southern Delaware

 

Tropical Storm Ophelia

As Tropical Storm Ophelia (Thank God it's not Hurricane Ophelia) tracks her way up the Delmarva peninsula and the East Coast, I have occasion to think where I am now in life. Yes folks, there is some heavy thinking going on here.

This morning at about 3 AM I was awoken from a Deep Sleep by the sound of Bill's emergency alarm bell in the electrical outlet next to my bed. Back when Bill first came home from the hospital I put that alarm bell in the outlet so when Bill needed me he only had to push the red button on the bell he had by his recliner chair where he sleeps in the basement. 

Bill hasn't used that emergency alarm for about year now but it does go off with a "BANG!" whenever the power goes off and back on in our house. Early this morning was such an occasion as the outer wind bands of Tropical Storm Ophelioa roared through our home here on the Delmarva Peninsula. 

I get up to reset the clocks. If I don't, the constant blinking of the digital clocks keeps us up. 

I have seven digital clocks that have to be reset every time the power goes on an off here. One good thing about living here on the Delmarva peninsula as opposed to our previous home in Pennsylvania, when the power usually goes off here, it comes back on right away. That's right, it blinks on and off. This morning it blinked on and off SEVEN TIMES! Yes, that is a new record. When we lived in Pennsylvania in the woods, when the power went off, it was off for HOURS if not days. That's one thing I don't miss about living in Pennsylvania in addition to the high taxes, our power always going off. And it did, a lot. Here in Delaware it is a rarity for the power to go off. Of course I was irritated that the power went off at all but then I had to remind myself that at least it came back on. Thousands along Tropical Storm Ophelia's path yesterday and today still don't have power. Which reminds me to be thankful for what I have.

Which also reminds me to be thankful for my health. Yes, I am having problems now. Earlier last week I got a painful crick  in my neck from sleeping the wrong way. God was that painful. Not only am I a hunched over old man now, now I have this situation where I couldn't turn my head. The stiffness was on the right side of my neck. Then a funny thing happened. A few days ago I woke up and the stiffness had moved and now was on the LEFT side of my neck! What's that all doubt? Neck cancer?

Of course being the big baby that I am, every time I have some kind of physical malfunction I think it is the onset of a cancer death sentence. 

I'm having another problem, my partial tooth on the right side of my mouth is digging into my upper gum. How did that come about? It's been working great for years. I avoided getting teeth implants with that partial now I have to rethink that option. Of course I don't want to spend thousands on such an implant. I probably should have had implants ten years ago when I was given the option and was flush with money, what with my part-time job and both of our retirement incomes. Now I'm facing life living on only one retirement income and no part-time job (I'm assuming they won't want an 82 year old stooped over old man at the front desk at the boutique hotel where I worked at). What to do because I really enjoy eating? What I've decided to do is just be very careful with what I eat and not eat anything that I really have to crunch on and chew.

I have a full set of false teeth (cost me over $5,000 years ago when I was given the option of teeth implants). I don't like eating with them though because of all that metal in my mouth I can't taste my food the right way. When I complain about this I think of my Mother who wore false teeth her whole life from the time she was fifteen years old. I guess  you get "used to it" but I don't want to. Eating is one of the few pleasures I have left in addition to reading and my meanderings in my backyard and my fish pond. 

I am so thankful that I can see good though and don't have macular degeneration like my 67 year old friend Howard (he has the wet kind that he needs injections in his eyes) or Bill's dry kind that he only sees shadows. Bill can never look anyone in the eye now can I look into his eyes. I think if I got that way I would make arrangements to Check Out. 

Speaking of which I am way past my Sell By Date anyway. It's all gravy now folks. My father Isaac Tipton

My father Isaac W. Tipton, Sr. 

died when he was eighty in the year 2000. My grandfather Fieldon Tipton died when he was fifty-four years old.

Fieldon Jasob Tipton died at age 54 in 1939

My great grandfather Hiram Tipton

My great grandfather Hiram Tipton - died at age 80 in 1930

died when he was eighty. And my great-great grandfather died when he was only thirty-four years old but then he was shot to death in the Civil War. He lived in North Carolina but he was a Union sympathizer and that's why he was murdered, recruiting his neighbors in his western North Carolina community for the Union Cause. Confederal General Noah Wichter and his Confederate forces heard of John Tipton's "treasonous" action and set out with a calvary of Confederate soldiers to stamp out those Union sympathizers. When He came across my great-great grandfather and his brother-in-law Curtis Bailey, they opened fire and shot them dead and dumped their bodies on the front lawn of the Tipton-Bailey homestead as a "lesson" to any other Union sympathizers. My great-great grandmother Martha "Patty" Bailey Tipton

Martha "Patty" Bailey Tipton Cooper  

was left a widow with eight children

1860 Census for John and Martha Tipton

to raise on her own. She was illiterate. She signed the Widow's Petition for a monthly $8.00 "Widow's Pension" with an "X".

Martha's Civil War Widow's Pension application

And she had to fight years for that modest monthly pension. She survived  by marrying her neighbor Thomas "Doc" Cooper, who was twenty-four younger than she was.

Thomas M. "Doc" Cooper, my great-great grandmother's second husband, 24 years younger than she

Patty in her youth must have really been something because her first husband, my great great grandfather John Tipton was four years younger that she was. 

Thomas "Doc" Cooper was only fourteen years old when Martha became a widow in 1864. Colonel Witcher also tried to murder him by hanging him from a nearby tree. He only survived by feigning death as he was hung and getting himself down in the leaves on the ground below the tree and hiding under the dead leaves. He and Martha married six years later in 1870 when he was twenty years old and she was forty-six years old. 

Martha lived to a ripe old age of ninety-one years of age and died in Asheville, North Carolina in 1915. 

My great-great grandmother Martha "Patty" Bailey Tipton Cooper's final resting place in 

Her second husband, Thomas M. "Doc" Cooper lived another seven years and also died in Asheville, North Carolina in 1922. Several years ago I was very fortunate to find her final resting place in the Berea Baptist Church Cemetery in Ashville, North Carolina cemetery. This was one of the great achievements of my life folks. 

Me at my great great grandmother Martha "Patty" Bailey Tipton Cooper's final resting place. What a wonderful feeling I had when I was able to pay my respects to this wonderful, strong woman who survived the Civil was and raise children. 

I have much research to do on my Tipton line. I've been away from it too long. Some years ago I did find a photo of my great-grandfather Hiram's older brother Baxter Tipton, who also grew up to be a doctor.

Dr. Baxter Tipton

I got this picture from his great-granddaughter. 

Random historical thoughts folks on this rainy Saturday, I never know where I'm going when I get on my blog folks. Today I took a long, winding path down my Ancestry Lane. I hope you found this trip as interesting as I did.

Have a great day!

Home Sweet Home - Delaware

This is an aerial view of the development where Bill and I live. You cannot see our lot and house in this photo though, we're just off to the right. I took this picture from the website of one of my neighbor's who is selling their house. I wanted to share it with all of you to show you the totally flat coastal area where we live, only sixty feet above sea level, one of the lowest in the United States. Across the road (Route One, Coastal Highway, the main drag along the East Coast - follow Route One all the way to Florida) is Hudson Fields. That's where they have occasional "events", sometimes a musical "event" which will vibrate our modest abodes. Usually they use those fields for games or expos. Last week it was the site of the annual "Pow Wow" of the local Indians. Yes, that's right folks. We have local Indians just like they have in Palm Springs.

New background picture here folks!

I took this one last week from our driveway on September 11th last week.

For the past two and a half years this has been my life. As a full-time caregiver for Bill, I don't get out like I used to. Oh how I miss those quarterly trips with Pat. Maybe again sometime in the future I will be able to resume those quarterly trips. But the likelihood of that now seems remote.

I really can't complain though. I love our home here in southern coastal Delaware. We may not have a backyard pool like some of our neighbors (something I wanted my whole life) but I do have a backyard pond full of goldfish.

Part of my Pennsylvania fish pond, I had it looking really natural unlike the pond I have now here in Delaware but I'm working on it.

This picture is of one of the three ponds I had when we lived in Pennsylvania on 7.875 wooded acres on the side of a hill. I loved those ponds and even had my own wetlands filtration system which kept the pond water as clear as a West Indies beach. But alas we had to move because I could no longer afford to pay the ever increasing panoply of Pennsylvania taxes, the school/real estate tax being the biggest one.

So I had move us to the sub tropical, humid, low tax state of Delaware, the second smallest state in the nation where most people don't even know where it is located. I moved to the Rehoboth Beach area because of it's large gay population. I thought that would be a welcoming population but with few exceptions (they've since died), the local gay community is more about fund raising and cliques than they are about welcoming outsiders. But no problem, we live in a welcoming neighborhood of fifty-seven home of straight people who ARE welcoming. In fact, one of the best neighbors I ever had and still do is a MAGA guy. Who would have ever thought? Of course we don't agree politically but we both don't discuss politics, we respect each other's views, which is as it should be. At least he don't fund raise me. But we do look out for each other. He's a widower and has been our neighbor even since we moved down here to Delaware in 2006. He and his wife moved in their house about a month after we moved into our house. His wife was VERY MAGA and we did get into sometimes political discussions  but of course neither one of us persuaded the other to change their views. She's been gone for over two years now and I do miss her because she had a wicked sense of humor. I miss those sessions where I used to visit with her and we would gossip about the neighborhood, trying to stay clear of political discussions, which wasn't always successful. She thought Trump was the Second Coming and Obama was the devil. Oh the discussions we could have now doubt The Criminal Trump but I digress. 

It is ironic I talk about taking trips to other locales whereas I live in a vacation destination. I sometimes have to remind myself I live in a section of the country which is a permanent vacation resort. The only thing is I dare not visit the nearby beaches and towns in season because of the heavy traffic, which gets more congested every year. Last year Pat visited in the summertime for a week and we took the shuttle bus down to the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk which was cool because we didn't have to contend with the summer traffic congestion. But Pat didn't make it down this year because he was busy selling his condo in Canada and moving in and getting settled in his now more modest accommodations in downtown Hamilton. He's also working a lot as a valet driver. In fact he's been working five days at week at his "part-time" job, often leaving at 5:30 AM in the morning and not returning to his home at about seven or eight o'clock at night. 

Pat still want to eventually move to Palm Springs but I just don't see that for myself. I love my home here in southern Delaware and just could not replicate a home like I have now in Palm Springs unless I won the lottery. I worked too hard all my life to get where I am now and I'm not about to throw that away for some eight foot high ceiling (we're ten feet high ceilings here) adobe 1400 square foot (we're 5200 square feet here) hut squeezed into who knows what neighbors. Sure, Palm Springs also has a large gay population and we even have a very good friend who lives there now but I suspect I would run into the same gay clique type situation that I didn't fit into here in the Rehoboth Beach area. Hey, do you think it's me? Probably. But when I talk to our friend in Palm Springs he's always telling about the latest fund raiser he's either having or attending. What is it with all these fund raisers? Probably jut an excuse for a party. Which is basically what fund raiser are anyway if one faces the truth. At this time of my life I need all the modest money that I receive from my small fixed bank pensions and Social Security. I used to work part-time at the hotel but I haven't for the past two and a half years since I've been caregiving for Bill. I don't know if they will even take me back, I'm pretty old (older than Biden) now. And besides, can I even physically do that job now? I don't know.

So here I stay, at our very comfortable home here in southern sub-tropical (which means the weather is very humid in the summertime and mild in the winter). Could be a lot worse. I'm thankful it's not. 

But again, maybe someday I will see a palm tree in person.

Pat and me in Palm Springs, 2018

 

Naptime

 

My Bedroom at nap time (the wall next to my bed)

Finally! The heat and humidity is gone.

I actually this Saturday morning is the beginning of fall weather. My favorite time of year. 

Yesterday I had something strange happened. I laid down for my usual afternoon nap at around 2:30 PM. I usually wake up about 5 PM and prepare Bill's dinner of pureed oatmeal and banana and lots of sugar. However, yesterday he was banging on my bedroom door at about 7:20 PM, wondering when I was going to get up. 

WHAT? It took me about a minute to orient myself. I was in such a deep sleep I didn't know if it was day or night. When I take my daily nap I do close my wooden blind and pull the curtains. It was just beginning to get dark outside when I woke up.

I don't know why I slept so late. I wasn't up late the previous night. But I was totally out of it. A deep, deep sleep.

I've been taking naps for over thirty years now. A habit I probably picked up from my Mother. 

The first time I took an afternoon nap was way back in 1980 when I had that Spruce Street fourth floor apartment in center city Philadelphia. I had rented that apartment because we had already sold our townhouse which was located a few blocks away, and our house in the country wasn't finished yet. Bill had already retired and stayed at our unfinished house while I continue to work at my job at the bank by City Hall. This particular day that I took the nap was a day I took off from work because I had a God awful cold. I was just exhausted. I laid down for a nap in that sun drenched back room that I used as a bedroom in that apartment. I didn't wake up until it was dark, about eight o'clock that night. That nap did wonders for me. Ever since then I've been addicted to afternoon naps whenever I can get them. Those naps refresh and recharge my batteries. 

Lately though my naps seem to be getting longer and longer. I do have sleep apnea which I refuse to get headgear for, which my cardiologist suggested that I get so I "don't die in your sleep." I remember my immediate response to him "But that is my preferred way to go, die peacefully in my sleep."

I've had two first cousins die unexpectedly in their sleep. Randy R., my Mother's older sister son, died unexpectedly in his sleep a few years ago.  He was tall and thin like me so it wasn't like a fat man lying on his back dying in his sleep from sleep apnea. 

Cousin Randy (far left in blue, his mother and me - 2005 at the facility where she lived the last seven years of her life, in the dementia unit. She confused me with her son, calling me "Randy" during my visit to her that day. I will always remember with fondness one summer I spent living with her family when I was eight years old. They lived near a bakery and the air aways smelled of fresh baked bread. She was always so kind to me. I always remember people who are kind to me. Randy wasn't born the summer I spent living with his mother and father. She just had two older children who weren't too happy I was there for the summer. I found out many years later why I spent the summer with Aunt Jeanette, my Mother had a nervous breakdown. I asked my Mother "What happened?" She said it was too much trying to raise three rambunctious boys by herself while my father was a cross country truck driver. Little did I know then. All I remember was that wonderful summer and how kind Aunt Jeanette was too me, even if her young son (George) and daughter (Elaine) weren't too thrilled I was living in their house. 

Then a few years later Hester T., one of my father's younger brother's daughter died unexpectedly in her sleep. Like Randy, she wasn't overweight either. Both were younger than me. I remember what Randy's wife said "Ron, Randy always said he wanted to die in his sleep. He didn't want to linger in a facility like his mother for years. But it's still too soon." Hester was similar. She still had a lot of living to do and then pfft! She's gone.

I'll be right up front with you folks, that is the way I hope I go. To be quite frank with you I am gettin tired of living. I only exist now to care for Bill. I don't want to die before him but he has told me if I go first he wouldn't be long behind. I worried for a while about that, the hell he would have to go through but I stopped worrying. Bill truly wouldn't last long because no one would or could take care of him like I do now. 

So here's the deal folks, if some day you should cease to see this blog updated check with Spo. My time will have come. Bear no sadness for me. I have lived a full life. I have been more fortunate than most. But life is getting more difficult now. I have trouble walking. My respiratory system is getting worse. And I suspect I have some lurking cancers waiting in the darkness ready to spring on me. 

I'm a ten year survivor from prostate cancer but my PSA is creeping up every year. My urologist tells me during my our weekly checkups "That's the cancer looking for a place to land."

This is the year I'm scheduled for another colonoscopy. I've lost tract of how many colonoscopies I've had (I think six), but the last one I had three polyps, one was precancerous. There are three types polyps; benign, precancerous and cancerous. 

Given all these choices, I would rather take a nap and not wake up.

But you ask "What about your next trip to Palm Springs?" Folks, I would LOVE to visit Palm Springs for Modernism Week in February with Pat. In fact I would love to go anywhere with Pat but I'm afraid those days are over. This is where my journey ends folks. Not a bad way to end though.

Now it's time for lunch.

Then that nap.

"The Watcher"

After about six weeks of futile and aborted attempts at finding the next Netflix series to bury myself into, I finally found one:  "The Watcher."

Great cast, (with Naomi Watts, Mia Farrow and Jennifer Coolidge - how can you go wrong? And even the little boy isn't the usual annoying moped that Hollywood often casts in these roles).

Good script based on a true story. Well directed, and cinematography is fabulous. And best of all well acted.  

I've tried to watch other Netflix series like "Ozark" and "Virginia River", all of which got high marks from Rotten Tomatoes but I just couldn't get into those far fetched, cliche ridden, ridiculous stories with (mostly) B list actors (a few exceptions). This series actually got a lower rating on Rotten Tomatoes but I like it anyway. Just goes to show you can't always go by ratings. You have to check out the series yourself. 

I need to "bury" myself into these Netflix series to offset the daily stress of my life here at Casa Tipton-Kelly. I watch the series after Bill goes to bed. I never watch movies in the daytime, only at night in the dark. And this is the perfect series to watch.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I am.

Moment (or two) of Zen Broadkill River Sept 11, 2023

Last night, right before sunset I took Bill for his daily ride. This time down Oyster Rocks Road to the Broadkill River. 

Usually there are several vehicles parked at this dead end location of Oyster Rocks Road. Not last evening though. We had this peaceful area all to ourselves. 

I timed our visit just right because the sun was just setting on that day, which was the twenty-second anniversary of 9/11 in which so many innocent people lost their lives to religious fanatics. 

I video taped a few minutes of this serenity in memory of those lives lost. 

9/11 Memories

 

Today is the 22nd anniversary of the brutal attack on our country by religious fanatics. 

Like many of  you I will always remember where I was when I heard/saw the attack on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City.

I was working at the Hampton Inn in Lionville, PA. It was a Monday morning and my first day on my new job as a sales associate. I was waiting for "Linda" (the sales associate) to begin training me to be her backup. 

I was seated at a desk in the back office, by the computer terminal waiting for Linda. To my left up in the corner of the back office (behind the front desk and in front of the manager's office) was a small screen TV. The same kind of TV that was in the breakfast room out in the main room on the other side of the front desk. One of the TV morning shows was on, I think "ABC This Morning."

Cathy, the breakfast hostess came to the back office and said "A plane just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers." My first thought was "How stupid. Some hot dog crashed his small plane into the World Trade Center." 

Linda switched the channel on the back office TV to show the coverage. I remember being frustrated because now my sales associate training would be delayed while Linda and others watched the TV coverage of the crash. I looked at the coverage for a few minutes and was fascinated by the smoke coming out of the World Trade Center building. Then I went back to my computer terminal and did some practice sets on my new sales associate job until Linda could sit next to me and show me what she did in her job.

Then, in what seemed like only a few minutes later, I heard a gasp from the breakfast room and Cathy shouted "A plane just hit the other building!" I knew then that the first plane wasn't an accident. My stomach sank. 

I stopped my practice set and glued my eyes to the TV in the upper corner of the back offie. Every body was gathered around outside the manager's office watching the TV coverage now as well as the hotel guests in the breakfast room were watching the coverage in the breakfast room.

As I was watching the TV reporters giving their reports I could hear "plopping sounds" behind them. Someone asked what were those sounds. The reporter hesitated before she said "Those are people jumping from the towers and hitting the ground behind her. Some of them are hitting the canopies."

I was sickened and angry at the same time. "How could this be happening?" These people did nothing wrong that day but go to work and then they were faced with a decision to either die of smoke inhalation or burn to death of jump to their death. That some would try to save themselves by aiming for the canopies stunned me.

All of us in the office continued to watch the TV coverage for the next hour or so, trying to figure out what happened. Then we heard the news of the plane crash in Shanksville, PA and the Pentagon. 

My sales associate training was cancelled for the day and I left the hotel early. 

Every one was stunned. 

Now, twenty-two years later we know what happened. Religious extremists were responsible for the mass murders of 2,977 innocent people. 

And for what? To impose their retribution on those who don't adhere to their religious views? 

Of course today we have another mortal threat to our democracy with religious extremists. Yes, I am talking about The Enemy Within. 

Cult followers who follow a known con man who was put into power by Christian Evangelicals. 

Yes, Muslim extremists were responsible for 9/11. Now we have an even greater threat by the Republican Party and Christian Evangelicals in this country. A much greater threat than some ragged assed Muslim extremists from Saudi Arabia. 

Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Me and friends at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach, pre COVID.

"Don't Get Around Much Anymore", one of my favorite lyrics from one of my favorite songs sung by Dinah Washington. An old Fats Waller blues song. 

 This photo was taken a few years ago at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach when Randy Hiltner, a blogger friend from Nebraska visited me. 

These days yours truly doesn't do much socializing like this. In fact I don't do any socializing like this. 

Since I've been caregiving for Bill two and half years ago I'm pretty much restricted to our home here in southern coastal Delaware. And of course this summer with the Summer Tourist Hordes free of COVID restrictions, I don't even get down to Rehoboth Beach, which is only ten miles down the road (good old Route One also known as Coastal Highway - takes you right to Florida if you keep driving).

At first I felt restricted but not so much now. I've pretty much fallen to a daily routine that is actually somewhat comforting. 

Bill still needs constant care but he is not bedridden nor is he in pain. He's off home hospice care (he can go back on anytime though should he start to go downhill fast). 

Because of his eyesight (macular degeneration) he can't see to do anything like the projects he used to so love. Our big "event" of the day is the Daily Ride, usually to Food Lion, our local supermarket. 

This daily ride is getting to be more and more of a challenge because DelDot is working on the intersection of Rt. 16 and Route One, the last red light from Dover to Rehoboth Beach. For some reason I can't fathom, "they" don't want any red lights from Dover to Rehoboth Beach. A straight shot for the Summer Tourist Hordes. How we will ever get out of our development here onto Route One I don't even want to contemplate. 

I do have a back way to Food Lion in Milton but they were working on that road this morning too. One thing about Delaware as opposed to our previous home in Pennsylvania, they always seem to be "working on the roads" down here, almost always making more lanes for folks moving to Delaware the Land Of Low Taxes and Mild Climate. One thing about living here in Coastal Southern Delaware, summer home of President Biden (only four miles south of Casa Tipton-Kelly) is the area is constantly growing. In fact we're growing so fast we may even eventually have a Trader Joe's and a Wegmans! Right now we have a bunch of overprices wannabes, although Food Lion is quite reasonable. They have everything I need but I do miss the "Wegmans Experience" (as the wife of my former dentist who also moved to Delaware said). 

There was a time when I first moved down here to Delaware that I had quite a social life. Every Wednesday night was "Old Fart's Night Out" with my friends Bob M., Jim O. and Bart R.

All three of them are gone now. Then on Sundays I would meet with friends at the Purple Parrot (the location of this picture at the beginning of this post). Everyone was invited and we usually had a group of at least four friends. Sad to say many of them have since passed on and the rest faded away. And besides, I don't travel at night anymore anyway. I don't drive at night. Even with my cataract surgery I still have a hard time seeing to drive in the dark. And to think back in the 80's I used to drive from our home in Pennsylvania all the day to Bob M.'s home in nearby Georgetown IN.THE.DARK. I guess I was fearless in those days. Not so much these days I'm afraid. 

I'm a bit more fragile at this time of my life. Unsteady on my feet and my endurance level is dropping rapidly. Every night I plan to sit down and watch one of my Netflix movies but by the time 10 or 11 rolls around, I'm wiped out. 

Caregiving takes its toll on this eight-one year old body. Bill and I used to share the house chores but because of his condition, I take care of everything now and I mean EVERYTHING. This morning the water aerator on his bathroom faucet gave out. First thing I did was call Service Today. But this time I was trying to avoid another huge bill. Remember a few weeks ago when our garbage disposal wasn't working? I called Service Today. They came out and in less than a minute "fixed" it by pushing the reset button. The cost? $49 just to come out and a $125 "evaluation" fee. I was trying to avoid another one of these costly mistakes so when I called this morning I asked if I could join the visit with my annual plumbing service. I told him ("Jamal") my problem from my last call and I just wanted to avoid another huge payment. He told me that I could "just screw off the aerator and get another one from Home Depot or a place like that for only a few dollars." That I did and viola! I went to my local Ace Hardware (two rides for Bill today) and got a new aerator for $4.69! Good news! I even put it on myself. I'm getting to be so butch these days with my new handyman skills. Don't get worked up though, I'll never be a real handyman, cooking is my thing. I like saving money being a handyman but I don't really care for that kind of work. Not my thing man.

Bill gets so frustrated these days. In normal times, way back when, he would have fixed that faucet in no time flat. Well, I consider myself lucky that he was able to do all the handyman work around here for all the years (over fifty) that he did. But the new reality is that these days all the work is on me. That's probably why I'm exhausted at the end of the day.

Somedays when I have a particularly hard day I think back to my Mother when she was raising me and my two younger brothers all by herself. 

Me (far right with hand over eyes shielding from sun) and my two younger brothers at 120 Washington Avenue about 1947)

This was during World War II. My father was a long distance truck driver (cross country) and would be gone for weeks at a time. She was on her own with three rambunctious boy who were always hungry. Many times she didn't have enough money to feed us. We didn't starve but I remember always being hungry. I think that's where I got my candy habit when I began my paper route when I was ten years old. I spend all the money (about $5 a week) on candy and comic books. When I was old enough I started to help her by washing the dishes and cleaning our dump of an apartment which is still there by the way. I just pulled a picture of it from the Internet this morning. 

120 Washington Avenue, Downingtown, PA (we lived on the second floor front) - Now you know why I MUST have some land around me

Hasn't changed much from when we lived there from 1944 to 1953. Rent was $22.50 a month, cockroaches included. I wonder if the cockroaches are still there. It's still in the White Trash section of Downingtown though. Yeah, we were White Trash. And everyone in school knew it. I couldn't shake that identification until I left home when I joined the Army at eighteen years of age. Hillbilly dad (for real, North Carolina Pigeon Roost didn't even wear shoes until he was ten years old when his family moved him and his eight brothers to Pennsylvania to work as farm labor on an uncle's fruit and vegetable farm, two more brothers born in Pennsylvania) and a mother of Quaker descent (Quakers weren't rich but they do have manners, which my Mother taught me).

When I lived in that apartment at eight years old I had to share a bed with my sixteen year old orphaned uncle. 

1950 U S. Census

That's right both of my grandparents were dead by then and he had no place to live until he finished high school. Of course after school he joined the service (Air Force). This is what we Tiptons do, hillbilly kids who didn't have that College Path set for them by their parents. We join one of the branches of the armed forces. Both of my brothers and I joined the Army for three year stints after we got out of school. I eventually did get an Associates degree on the G. I. Bill in business management at a small college in Philadelphia. 

Notice that I'm rambling this morning folks? Well I am and I'm about to end this particular ramble. Sometimes I have to do these rambles to remind myself how lucky I am to have had the wonderful life I have had and continue to have, even if I don't get around much anymore.

Miss Ezrah And Other Memories Of A Ten Year Old

 

Me, third row in the back far right with my finger (?) in my mouth.

This morning while I perusing my Facebook page I came upon this picture of my third grade elementary school class taken in 1951.

Looking at this picture invoked such sweet and comforting memories for me. Our teacher at that time was "Miss Ezrah". And that is what we all called her. 

Miss Ezrah was much loved by everyone. I do not remember one single person who disliked Miss Ezrah, which unfortunately I cannot say for some of my other elementary school teachers (hear that Mrs. Warren)? 

Ah yes, 1951 was such an innocent time. The only thing we had to worry about then was an A-bomb dropped on us, which we had drills for by diving under our wooden desks with the metal legs screwed on the wooden floor. Even then my ten year old brain surmised ("How is this desk going to protect me from an A bomb blast?" but I digress) Back then in The Fifties you did what you were told to do especially if you were a dumb ass very insecure poor kid. Hey! We were all poor, check out the pants on my classmates in the front row. But one thing I will always remember is Miss Ezrah's classes. I learned a lot when I was in her class. 

Interesting thing about this picture, which is mine by the way. I remember each and every one of my fellow classmates and their names. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I do have a knack for remembering names. A useless talent for sure but all the same, something that I (sometimes) excel at. Lately I haven't been too good with names but I'm well into my eighth decade now.

I have an interesting story about Miss Ezrah. Back in 2004 I was mentioned to one of my fellow classmates who I am still friendly with and who is still alive (as I am) how much I liked Miss Ezrah. If you're curious my former fellow classmate I was talking too is pictured fourth from the left in the front row ("Billy B.")

He told me "Oh Miss Ezrah is still alive! She lives at Simpson Meadows" which is where my friend's mother also lived (that's how he knew). I told him "She must be 120 years old because she was old when she was our third grade teacher in 1951. In actuality she was only 45 years old (born in 1906). Of course to a ten year old back in The Fifties forty-five years years old was OLD. 

I asked Bill B. how was she doing? He said she was find and still even walked to do her grocery shopping. WHAT? I called Simpson Meadows and made arrangements to visit her which I did on March 2, 2004. 

Me and Miss Ezrah, my former third grade school teacher 2004 at Simpson Meadows, Downingtown

I visited her with another fellow classmate Larry M.

Me, Miss Ezrah and Larry M. at Simpson Meadows, March 2, 2004

 She remembered both of us! I tested her because I thought she was just being kind. She taught forty- one years, how could she possibly remember us? But she did! We tested her and she nailed it. Both Larry and I were, of course, very insecure goofy ten year olds. She remembered a book report I did which "my friend" Larry promptly pointed out I plagiarized from a Scrooge McDuck comic book story. Hey, I didn't even know the word "plagiarized" then let along that I "stole" the story. This even is how I met Larry and became good friends with him over the years. Larry is still alive but unable to talk now because he is in the advanced stages of ALS, which he has had for the last eight years. Larry told me that he was afraid I was going "to beat him up" at recess because he "told on me." To the contrary, when I approached him at recess I said "You have Scrooge McDuck comic books?" Sounds like me, always hustling. Turns out he had a LOT of comic books as I did and we began trading comic books from that date on. By the way, Larry is pictured in the third row in the back second from the left standing directly in front of Miss Ezrah.

At the time we visited Miss Ezrah she was ninety-eight years old. She died in 2012 at the age of one hundred and six. Talk about a life well lived. 

She never married and never learned to drive a car but she left thousands of boys and girls with wonderful memories of their elementary school days.