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The Write Side of 59

~ This is What Happens When You Begin to Age Out of Middle Age

The Write Side of 59

Monthly Archives: September 2013

My Stool-Sample Story

06 Friday Sep 2013

Posted by Lois DeSocio in Confessional, Men

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Bob Smith, confessional, Men, stool samples

Drawing by Julie Seyler.

Drawing by Julie Seyler.

BY BOB SMITH

Last week, as part of my annual check-up, I had routine bloodwork done. I was also given “homework” in the form of a stool-sample kit, which tests for blood in your feces. If they find blood, it could mean you have colon cancer, which is highly treatable in its early stages, but frightfully deadly later on.

The stool-sample kit is ingenious. You lay a piece of thin paper on the surface of the water in your commode to create a temporary floating platform, “make your deposit” on it, then jab the top of the floating waste with a tool resembling a spiky plastic toothpick – twisting to ensure full coverage. Then you snap the befouled toothpick into a sterile plastic carrying case, wrap the case in a sliver of bubble wrap, and slide the whole thing into a padded, postage prepaid envelope addressed to the testing lab. Dump the envelope into the nearest mailbox, and it’s done.

Are we having fun yet? Surely not half as much fun as the lab technician whose job it is to unwrap and test those spiky sticks all day long.

Anyway, I dutifully completed the test, mailed it off, and totally forgot about the blood work and stool sample – until I went home after four days away and listened to the accumulated phone messages. There were four: one wrong number, and the next three, ominously, from my doctor’s office. All three merely recited that it was Dr. Gold’s office calling for Robert W. Smith, and asked that I give them a call. I’m not technically savvy, so I couldn’t figure out whether the messages had been left over three days, or three hours. Nonetheless, I was a bit alarmed that the doctor’s office was so anxious to reach me.

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A Final Climb to the Top of Hawk Mountain

05 Thursday Sep 2013

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

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Tags

Birdwatching, confessional, Margo D. Beller, The Write Side of 50

atop the mountain

BY MARGO D. BELLER

The months run by. It seems like yesterday that I was looking at an Eastern Phoebe on the first full day of spring. Now the summer is over, the kids are going back to school (yay!),and the birds that came north to breed are heading south for the winter.

On Sept. 1, many hawk watches opened for “business.” These platforms, where people scan the skies for eagles, osprey and smaller hawks are located atop or near ridges where rising warm air, and northerly wind create an aerial highway for these diurnal travelers.

New Jersey has lots of these places, from Cape May in the south, to Sandy Hook along the eastern coast, to the ridges in the west along the Delaware River, and many others in between.

But before I discovered the treasures of my home state, we went west to Hawk Mountain Sanctuary in Pennsylvania. This place, where men once blasted migrating hawks out of the sky for sport, was bought by a rich woman and turned into a sanctuary.

What draws the birdwatchers, is seeing the birds practically at eye level from the topmost lookout. But there is a price to pay. The higher you go, the harder the climb, with many rocks that shift under your weight.

The first time we climbed to the top, we were beguiled by all the warblers we found along the way. It was a weekday and the crowd was small. We had come prepared, and enjoyed watching the raptors fly. On the way down, we even found a bird we’d never seen before, a Bicknell’s thrush. We knew we had to return someday.

That happened a few years later. However, rocks shift, mountains get worn from the rain and people get older. Our second climb up – no warblers to be found – was on a Saturday. There were many more people making the climb and sitting at the top.

Watching the hawks up close was just as wonderful. But the climb down, for we without wings, was much more hazardous than last time. Even with a walking stick, I came close to falling several times, which scared me.

There were older people making the climb in both directions, and they seemed to have no problem. But there were others who had to travel very slowly, helped by younger people. They all kept going because they were drawn to the hawks, and I hope they weren’t disappointed.

But when we got to the bottom of the mountain, MH and I knew we wouldn’t be making that climb again.

As I said, there are lots of hawk watches closer to home, and my favorite one allows us to drive to the top, take out the folding chair, and watch the show. It will do.

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A Song With a Story Sings to Me

04 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by WS50 in Men

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Frank Terranella, Men, music, The Write Side of 50

the girl with the bow

The girl with the bow. By Julie Seyler.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

I have always loved songs that tell a story. Many songs over the years have told simple stories. Thinking back to my childhood, “Silhouettes,” “Leader of the Pack,” and “Society’s Child” come to mind. But I’m not talking here about songs that tell simple stories. I’m talking about songs that could qualify as bona-fide short stories. Harry Chapin was the master of this genre with songs like, “Taxi” and “A Better Place to Be,” and many others.

One of my favorite story songs is one that was a hit for the Dixie Chicks in 2003. It’s a song by Bruce Robison called “Travelin’ Soldier.” Although written in the 1990s, the song is set during the Vietnam War. It’s about a boy, “two days past eighteen,” waiting in his army uniform for a bus that will take him off to war. He walks into a café, and is waited on by, “a girl with a bow in her hair,” who takes his order, and smiles at him because she can see he’s shy and all alone. This encourages him enough to ask her to sit and talk because he’s, “feeling a little low.” She tells him that she gets off in an hour, and she knows a place where they can go and talk. So they go down, and sit on the pier. There, the young soldier asks if he can write to her because, “I got no one to send a letter to.” She agrees and the young man catches his bus. Soon the letters start to come from an army camp in California, and then from Vietnam.

The young soldier pours out his heart to the young girl. He says that he may be in love with her. He also tells her of the things that scare him. He lets her know that when things get, “kinda rough over here,” he thinks of that day sitting on the pier with her. He tells her, “Don’t worry but I won’t be able to write for awhile.”

Of course, the last verse of the song is the most poignant:

One Friday night at a football game
The Lord’s Prayer said and the Anthem sang
A man said folks would you bow your heads
For a list of local Vietnam dead
Crying all alone under the stands Was a piccolo player in the marching band
And one name read but nobody really cared
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair.

I have to admit that I get a tear in my eye every time I hear the song. “Travelin’ Soldier” was the last hit the Dixie Chicks had. While they were introducing the song at a concert in London on March 10, 2003, lead singer Natalie Maines said that they were ashamed that George Bush was from Texas. Country music stations immediately stopped playing the song, and it dropped from the charts. The Dixie Chicks never recovered from their shunning from the country music community. But their recording of “Travelin’ Soldier” remains a musical work of art.

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Someone Left a Garden in My New Backyard (Help)

03 Tuesday Sep 2013

Posted by WS50 in Food

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

backyard garden, Food, Julie Seyler, lettuce, The Write Side of 50, tomatoes

The Moon 8.25.13

BY JULIE SEYLER

On Sunday, August 25, at around 6:30 a.m., the moon was still luminous. I went outside and surveyed the land in the backyard.

You see, I, through Steve, have inherited an estate – or shall we say Steve is now the proprietor of a three-story house with a deck, set upon a corner lot with a detached two-car garage. It is hardly perfect, but it is adorable. And until we walked inside with keys in hand, we had not a clue that the prior owner was an ardent and passionate gardener.

She left us ripening tomatoes and budding peppers, sprouting lettuce and a few cucumber shoots. And boundless flowers of every color, shape and form:

ripening tomatoes

peppers 231lettuce 231

purple flower

flower 231

I figure the whole garden gig is a gift. If one side of the “getting old” seesaw is dealing with illness and reading obituaries, the other side is knowing to BE HERE NOW. We are wise that this moment will be gone one day, and not easily recapturable. It is also a sign- I am supposed to develop a green thumb. After 38 years of apartment living sans a plant, it is time to start digging. I so love going to the Farmer’s Market, but now there is a mini-farm in our backyard. (Of course, the irony of it all will be that I won’t dig gardening at all.) In the meantime, Steve hooked up a sprinkler timed to go off every day at 11:00 so that the vegetables get water. What else do we do? Tips appreciated.

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