tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87055024676492884272024-03-08T14:17:05.594-05:00murphy's new york a go go 2Well, I don't know -- is it a place? Is it my place? Well, I like it.Patricia Murphy, a resident ofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03875194491703769637noreply@blogger.comBlogger215125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705502467649288427.post-14312236985063482912011-06-13T07:40:00.001-04:002011-06-13T07:41:18.903-04:00Sedation DentistryTwo words that go together, in my opinion, like peanut butter and jelly, gin and tonic, steak and potatoes. At least that's what I think and by the end of the day I'll know. I'm having a bunch of dental work done today. If I told you how much you'd likely think how could someone with a fancy-pants doctoral degree let her teeth get to the point where she has to have so much work done. Fear my friends, fear and Dr. Stern and Stein, my childhood dentists. But that's in the past, and the future looks like a big fat smile.<br />
<br />
In other news, it's been one week since I had the caudal epidural injection and I feel like I have my life back. I wish I'd known about the injection years ago. So if you have a back injury, you should let a qualified physician stick 6 or 7 huge needles in your back. More on that later.<br />
<br />
I'm giving up on waiting for anybody to post a piece about a place,so I'm going to post another one as soon as the sedatives wear off. Maybe before, ha ha. Might be the best thing I've ever written. <br />
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<script type="text/javascript">
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MNYAGG <br />
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That in a nutshell was my father, never one to toot his own horn. But he was able to say to say such things because the larger issue, would he fight for his country, was never in doubt. Things like that were just that clear to him.<br />
And so today I am thinking of him and his pals and all of those who deserve our remembrance. Odd that we say "Happy Memorial Day," isn't it?<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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<br />
McCall: McCall, Idaho sits at the top of the world, or so it seems sometimes. At over 5,500 ft. elevation, it’s not a place where too many summer gardens grow. Once I sat in my brother’s friend’s living room and listened to “the boys” talk about how once they saw snow on June 23rd. I didn’t know then how much a place could do to you. The Tamaracks that grow so straight because there’s really not enough room for them, the jumping into Payette Lake on May Day even though the water was not too long ago ice.<br />
<br />
I suppose McCall is where I grew up, after running away from New Jersey and all my teenage angst. It seemed at first like time had not, would not, touch the place. In high school the kids couldn’t understand my accent; fresh from Bergenfield I probably sounded like I was talking under water to them. In McCall I learned to call a bag a sack, a potato a spud. I learned about isolation and that people in small towns can think enormously wrong things of you – until they get to know you.<br />
<br />
1977: at my high school graduation party I look over to see my family standing, mouths agape, around my school principal who has just told them all how proud everybody is that I graduated with my class after dropping out of high school in my junior year. Quite a frozen-in-time moment, considering that my mother, father and sister where the only ones who knew until that moment that I had left school, that I had been a rudderless, woebegone kid who didn’t know what to do because nobody liked her, and who had walked away from school and spent a year working at a fish hatchery waiting to get on with it.<br />
<br />
You can’t imagine what the air felt like to me when I first moved to McCall. I came from 80 ft. above sea level, from a place where on certain days you could smell ocean brine. The air in McCall was a sword at first, jousting with my poor asthmatic lungs. I felt like it dared me to breath. I couldn’t walk ten feet without the eerie feeling of needing something that wasn’t there. But somewhere along the way that gave way to the feeling that this was right, this living so high and close to such clear blue sky. <br />
<br />
When you see the tips of Ponderosa pines look like they’re trying to make a mark on a big sky you know why people can love a place, really love a place in a way that almost hurts sometimes. The East was worn out I thought, had been used up by its own excess. In my high school journalism class I wrote an impassioned plea, a manifesto of sorts to what my homeland could have been. It was intended as some clarion call, a sort of “don’t let this happen to THE WEST” tirade against sitting idly by while the place you love goes to hell in a hand basket .<br />
<br />
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<br />
1999: We’re in the state car driving back from Idaho Falls’ outreach campus to the main campus of Idaho State University. Of the four of us in the car, only two of us know that the driver is in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Terry knows, I know; I’m the driver. The two others, visiting assistant professors we carpool with twice a week, probably just think I’m weird.<br />
<br />
There’s a place on I-15 where you crest a hill and see the Portneuf Gap just as you’re coming into Pocatello. And it is there where Terry leans over and whispers “beautiful, isn’t it?” Comic relief at a time when I was afraid to take the responsibility of driving anyone anywhere. When I was coming undone. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Depressed in summer, to be more precise. Case(s) in point, the last two summers: first the summer of no promotion, then the summer of dad's death. Before summer depression number three hits, I thought I'd set myself a few ground rules.<br />
<br />
1) I have a schedule: morning work on online class and/or fall classes, afternoon dig, plant, weed. You guessed it; I'm doing another feeble attempt at gardening. Some time in the day I read about service learning in tech and professional writing classes.<br />
<br />
2) I have a plan that involves you, my beloved blog followers. Are you listening? Getting excited? Wait, do I have blog followers? I'm going to write posts about the places I've lived, the people I knew in those places, you know the whole literary thing. Now I haven't lived in that many places, but I'm not going to aim for finished pieces; instead I'll start a piece on, let's say Pocatello on a Tuesday then next I might write about Bergenfield, then back to Pocatello or throw a little McCall in the mix. <br />
Here's the challenge:<br />
If you're out there reading my blog, why don't you post a little somethin somethin in the comment section about some place you've lived? When I post, you post. Get it? Just do it, and who knows what'll happen?<br />
<br />
3) I said I would devote the summer to my back and it has begun. I got a letter from my insurance company yesterday saying the caudal epidural injection had been approved. So on Monday (I needed a day to think about all this) I'll call to set up the procedure. There are no guarantees that this means I'll avoid back surgery, but it's a start, and frankly I'm sick of being in pain all the time. I'd rather inflict it than have it; just ask my students (bah dump . . . ).<br />
<br />
So that's it for now, time to finish putting up the online class that opens Monday. <br />
Will you take my challenge?<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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<br />
Oh but I won't have to worry about that, will I? Who needs ac when temps are in the 60's? We'll all be pasty here in CNY if this keeps up, pastier than usual.<br />
<br />
What's the weather like where you are? Is summer coming in all its splendor?<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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Happy Spring to my faithful follower(s),<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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1) I called the doctor's office yesterday to find out that the nurse didn't "check the box" to order the MRI I've been waiting for. Way to go non-box-checking imbecile. After all, it's only constant pain I'm in.<br />
<br />
2) I did some yard work and while I thought I might never walk again last night I am fine this morning, well as fine as someone in constant pain can claim to be.<br />
<br />
3) Vincent got his claws stuck in a screen window on the back porch and lost part of one. No blood and one less nail to clip.<br />
<br />
4) Last night I dreamed of my father's funeral and that he woke up in the middle of it. Not really woke up, more yawned and rolled onto his side and went back to sleep. I sort of liked this dream (not at first) because it gave me the idea that he might be sleeping (metaphor!) peacefully in Mt. Carmel cemetery. <br />
<br />
5) I will likely not go to graduation on May 7th. Sitting for two hours in a metal chair will render me incapable of most movement and in wretched pain for days. I will likely go surprise Mrs. Murphy for Mother's Day instead. <br />
<br />
In not-so-mundane news, D's parents are coming for a visit this weekend. I'll be taking bets on how long it'll take them to notice that gorgeous ring I'm sporting on my stubby little finger. Your bets?<br />
<br />
Enjoy the spring weather, if there is some where you are.<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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What's spring doing in your neck of the woods?<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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<script type="text/javascript">
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MNYAGG<br />
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Your Owner,<br />
Dr. Patricia Murphy<br />
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<br />
Don't you hate it when a few people just spoil it for everyone else?<br />
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well, I don't want to think about that.<br />
How was your day?<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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<br />
You can thank me later.<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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<br />
Last night my roommate (who has actually said that he misses winter) asked me if I was still going to do it. Since it's been raining and snowing every day despite the "50% chance of rain" predicted on the news, I'm gonna say no. Sometimes here a 50% chance of rain = 100% rain, 100% of the time. I've learned this after seven years.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong; we do have spring here, most years. This year winter started early and has stayed like a drunk at a party. You know the one: everybody else leaves and s/he lingers, maybe falling asleep a few times but rousing him/herself to talk about the good times, the bad times, whatever. Spring this year in CNY is that guy, the one who winds up sleeping on your couch after you thought s/he'd sober up enough to go home.<br />
<br />
Winter has to stop sleeping on my couch. I am sick of turning the upstairs heat on.<br />
<br />
Yes, there are more serious things I could blog about besides my fluffy cat, my dear deceased dog, and the weather, but that's not this blog. I have my feet firmly planted in a blog world where I can choose what I want to write about. Sometimes I bet people who wander "into" this little world by mistake (probably after typing a search like Murphy's Law) must think. "Who is this vapid middle aged woman who's obsessed with her pets and the weather?. Well, take it or leave, that's me. I have really serious things on my mind (the professor who was arrested for closing his student's laptop on her hands) but I don't want to talk about them in my <strike>happy sunshine</strike> gripe about the weather place.<br />
<br />
That's me, and if you did a google search and you're disappointed, sorry. Go read the NYT online for free while you can. It's full of bad news.<br />
<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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</script> <script type="text/javascript" src="http://tracker.icerocket.com/services/collector.js"></script>Patricia Murphy, a resident ofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03875194491703769637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8705502467649288427.post-32418643242783451932011-04-03T10:43:00.000-04:002011-04-03T10:43:25.247-04:00One Year!Well, Vincent and I have been together for a year, yesterday actually. I guess April 2nd will be his birthday, since I have no idea when he was born. He could be two years old. He's at least 21 months by now. He's a joy, so sweet and lovable. Handsome too in a fluff ball kind of way. I remember how worried I was that Missy wouldn't like him or would feel jealous, but it all worked out and we had nine good months together. We both miss her, but let's not talk about that. Whether or not I use April 2nd as Vincent's birthday, it'll be our happy anniversary. So, to celebrate, here are a few of his nicknames:<br />
<br />
Vince, Vinny, Vin<br />
VJ Supercat<br />
Fluffmeister Phil<br />
Vin Diesel<br />
My Cousin Vinny (used rarely)<br />
Bunny (Daryl's not mine. Daryl seems to get bunnies and cats confused.)<br />
Mr. Murphy<br />
Superchunk (Daryl's again. My cat is not chubby; he's fluffy.)<br />
<br />
Sometimes I call him Sweet Sally Sue when I first come home because that's what I used to say to Missy. I hope he doesn't find it too emasculating. <br />
Anyway, I'm glad he's mine.<br />
MNYAGG<br />
<br />
<br />
<script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
Clark asked too about retail items, and well, that's a tough one. I assume he didn't just mean what do people buy here but more what do we sell here that we're known for. Since this used to be the place where Oneida silver was made, if I were writing this post 50 years ago I'd say "Oneida silver". Or since Revere Ware was made here until relatively recently, were I writing this ten years ago I could've said that. But the days of upstate being a hub of manufactured goods are gone, with some notable exceptions.Remington Arms is still in Illion NY, and as far as I know Daimler Chrysler Commercial Buses of North America, Inc.still makes buses in Oriskany.<br />
<br />
Mostly though, manufacturing is gone and old mill and factory sites are empty or transformed into restaurants, apartment buildings, gyms, and a few other things. Sad are the ones that sit completely abandoned. I never thought I'd say that such buildings can be beautiful, but they really are. Better to see them put to some use. <br />
<br />
So manufacturing is gone, farms are small and not always profitable, but hey, at least it's not Detroit. Oh wait, I already said we've lost more people than Detroit. Somebody out there who's local and/or likes riggies should tell Clark about the food we're known for. C'mon peple; it's dialogue time. Somebody at least tell him about Utica Club.<br />
<script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
But not when Vincent and I come to Daryl's house for a few days. Then it's a two pet household, but the two cats are separated by a screen propped up in the doorway of the extra bedroom. Vincent's inside; Sophie's got the rest of the house from which to observe him. She used to hiss and growl and be so agitated I'd be afraid to walk past her when she was out in the hallway. She'd be hunkered down, looking under the crack in the door when it was closed, occasionally putting a tiny but aggressive paw under the crack in the doorway to give a swipe. Once Vincent pushed a toy out in response. He's a lover, not a fighter.<br />
<br />
And neither is Miss Sophie. She's a sweet, good nature, and beautiful little girl. Formerly named Charmin, she came from the Rome Humane Society and is the love of Daryl's life, justifiably so, she gives him less agita than I do. I still remember holding her in my lap when he went to get cat supplies the first day he had her. I told her it would be okay and that she would have the best life, better even than the barn they'd found her in. Now it's all these years later, and I'm bringing this big fluffy dude into her house! Maybe it pisses her off that he came from her rival human society, Stevens-Swan. <br />
<br />
The thing is, they're both so sweet and I love them so much. But they're killing me. When they're together they produce so many pheromones from their heightened agitation. It's spring too (at least on the fur shedding calendar). Don't get me wrong. Sophie's agitation was pretty mild this visit, and Vincent never seems agitated. That is, until 4:00 in the morning. In the wees hours of the morning yesterday, he decided it was time to "tear down that wall" and thumped and scratched at the screen keeping him in his room, the room full of cat x's 2 because Sophie sleeps in there. I went in and hung out with him. We watched tv together on my computer. It had taken two allergy pills and a hit from an old inhaler to get me able to sleep, and in the wee hours of the morning as I held that purring fluffball I wheezed and sneezed and wipe my nose and thought about the future.<br />
<br />
I thought about the life ahead of me with these two lovely creatures. They will run around the house and maybe even sleep together. Older woman, younger man. It happens.<br />
<br />
I thought about how much good we do when we give these wonderful creatures a good home.<br />
<br />
I thought about the pets that I've had and how each one of them (from rabbit to dog) helped me become the person I am.<br />
<br />
I thought about Missy and how much my father loved her and love napping with her.<br />
<br />
I thought about how right it is for all of us to give pets who live in cages good homes.<br />
<br />
I thought about allergy shots.<br />
<br />
MNYAGG<br />
<br />
<script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
So let's do it. I'll start.<br />
<br />
The people here in central New York (technically I suppose it's all "upstate" to everyone else, but we here make the distinction) are nice. They're not dumb or conventional or provincial (well, some are). They're smart and savvy and they possess an underdog mentality that I respond to. They're friendly but not "in your face" friendly. I like them.<br />
<br />
Okay, if you read my blog and you're from this area (Justin) step up to the plate. What do you like about central New York? If you're not from the area, ask me a question about where I live (Clark, are you there?) and I'll find out the answer.<br />
<br />
Let's do it!<br />
MNYAGG<br />
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