DREAM SCAPE

 I woke from an odd little dream this morning.  I drove into the underground garage of a building that was undergoing some remodeling.  I parked and walked inside.

I saw a doctor who admitted me. (Hmm, must have been a hospital) I was taken to a room, given a gown and put to bed.  The next day the doctor released me and asked if there was anything he could do for me before he left.  I shook my head no. 

I went into the bathroom to change into my clothes which were oddly enough a pair of pants and a simple blue blouse.

When I came out the bed had been made and there was a small pill cup with two cherry lozenges.  Sweet!

I walked toward the outside door and I noticed that it was nearly sundown.

A to Z says to dream of a hospital says that one needs to improve physical or mental health.   Um, not a problem for me.  The alternative definition of Hospital means losing control of your body.  Well, that is certainly true.  

Other medical folk have custody of my body from 10 am to 2 pm on Monday, Wednesday, Friday.  But I rather enjoy chatting with the nurses and the tech.  

I have gotten to know a few of the other patients and generally have a fairly benevolent time in the chair.  Which is cushy leather, small TV swings forward.  I use a small pair of ear phone things to plug into the TV or my Kindle.  I have a neck pillow and a blankie to keep me warm.

This week has been especially good and the tech was able to use both sides of the fistula for the dialysis.  The carotid cannula has rested this week.  Perhaps in a month or two, Dr. Caiman will remove the device.

Since the fistula has matured at long last (it took a year) I have decided that Miss Gale is taking back two pink five pound dumbbells.   Poor girlie girl.

MY FRIEND, PATRICK

 Since I have been reminiscing about Barrow, I feel that I should mention my friend, Patrick Pendleton.  

He came to Barrow shortly some time before the 1995 dot.com bubble burst.  His motivation was to move from Ohio to somewhere that he could sit out that recession.  

He was from Willoughby, Ohio.  It may sound familiar being the name of a village in a Twilight Zone story.  His first job in Barrow was working for Mark Air as a baggage handler.  That job also included a lot of cargo as well.  

The Mark Air building, which contained a smallish hamburger joint upstairs, was next to the two very long landing strip.  The landing strips were long enough for jets to take off and land.  They were paved but took a beating.   

North Slope Borough Search and Rescue was situated next to Mark Air.  They had a Lear jet and a large helicopter. 

Like a lot of people, Patrick submitted his application for various jobs in Barrow.  One of them was for the medical record department.  Judy interviewed him and he was hired.  No experience but very willing to learn.  

He fit in well.  He was very tall, blond hair and he had Marfan's Syndrome which means he had long bones and connective tissue disorder.  

The desks were a bit short for him, so I looked at the situation and wondered if the maintenance guys could build a wooden cradle of 2x4's for the table legs. They did, it raised the desk about three inches which helped tremendously.  There were four desks in the coding room, peopled by Patrick and three other ladies.  The ladies were all Filipino which meant they were very hardworking but took very long vacations because they went to P.I and their absences were usually two or three months.  So essentially one of the desks was pushed against a wall.  

Patrick had a terrific sense of humor.  One day the bunch of us were eating lunch in the very small lunchroom, it held four tables.  He was chatting away and mentioned that he enjoyed his Aunt's recipe for hamburger dildo. Heads whipped around.  He dabbed his lips and explained that his Aunt, almost nun-like had a recipe for Hamburger Dill Roll.   You take a largish dill pickle, roll it in hamburger and fry it.  I asked him what the side dish was and he twinkled, "Why white pearl onions with white sauce!"  Everyone roared with laughter. 

About three months or so later, Patrick complained of a nagging pain low in his abdomen.  One of the docs in ER diagnosed a dissecting aorta.  He was shipped to Anchorage where it was confirmed that his descending aorta was bulging.  

He elected to fly home to Ohio then to Mayo Clinic.  He had a resection.  Early in his stay a day after surgery, he called wanting to speak to the hospital administrator.  John was off slope so I chatted with Patrick for a while.  Soon, it became clear that his mentation was not at all clear.  He kept trying to tell me that the aliens were invading.  Then he hung up.  I called back and spoke to a nurse who was aware of Patrick's postop condition.  

In a few weeks he returned.  His normally high pitched voice was now a whisper due to damage to his vocal cords while intubated.  The surgery was successful except that he some nerve damage from the low pelvic surgery and his gait was weak.  He needed to use one of the carts that carried charts to help his navigation.  I got him a bicycle bell for the cart so he would warn people that he was coming.  

After about a year he decided he would study for Coder Certification.  The annual test was held in Anchorage so he flew down to take the test.  Unfortunately he rental developed a flat tire and by the time that was taken care of the Poctor's had closed the test site.  So he came back to try again later.

The next year it all went well.  If I remember correctly the two of us flew down together.  I was attending the State Medical Record annual meeting and he took the test. But it wasn't all grimness.  We and a lot of medical record people went to a local club where Mr. White's Review was playing.  It was hilarious.  I have never laughed so hard.  

Anyone who flied to Anchorage knows to take an extra piece of luggage folded in amongst the regular suitcases and such.  This allows one to go shopping at Carr's for goodies, food stuffs not found in Barrow, or Nordstroms for clothing.  I once saw an ad for boots and called to ask them to mail me a pair of boots which they did.  They were sold because there was a fault with the boots.  I looked for the longest time before I realized the fur was slightly shorter on one side as compared to the other.  We also went to Staples to pick up some computer supplies.  Those extra bags to come in handy.  

A few months later, Patrick had a check up x-ray of the low abdomen and the aorta from the heart was dissecting.  He flew to Mayo Clinic for surgery.  I took vacation at the same time.  

When I returned to Barrow, Monica called me to say that Patrick had the surgery but it was not successful.  He died.  

His funeral was held in Willoughby.  His mother, Marge Pendleton called to tell me about the ceremony.  

I decided to have a memorial for Patrick.  I spread the word that there would be potluck and a memorial in the commons room.  About twenty people showed up and told funny stories.  I started off with the Hamburger Dildo.  

One of the ladies told a story that she had invited a bunch of people for Thanksgiving dinner.  Patrick was one of her frequent guests.   

He was a terrific cook.  He brought a wonderful dried noodle salad to a potluck once, recipe taken from a book entitled "100 Casserole Recipes".  I asked what he wanted for his birthday one year and said something to do with cooking.  So I got him a set of graduated glass measuring cups starting at four cups on down.  

Anyway the party commenced.  It took forever to cook the turkey because she was following a Martha Stewart recipe that called for the bird to be covered with thin cloth and basted regularly every 15 minutes.  The party started at noon and dinner was not served until 10 pm because it took that long to cook the turkey.

I called Marge Pendleton later to tell her how the memorial went.  I told her that I was disappointed that a beautiful blond with two small children crying for their daddy had not crashed the memorial.

Marge took the rest of the money from his life insurance to purchase a B&B that had something to do with ducks.  

I miss that young man.

A TRAGIC DEATH IN BARROW

 Just yesterday, I was reminded that I had never written about a tragedy in Barrow.

Paul McCord, one of the new physicians, and his wife Amy came to Barrow.  He fell in love with the North Slope.  He was liked and admired by many people on the slope.  Amy was teaching in one of the local schools.  The schools, which I have probably not mentioned, were extremely well designed and very modern.  The high school has an Olympic sized swimming pool which is open to the public.  I toured the new grade school and in each room was a tiny child sized toilet.  

Dr. McCord was in the habit of driving a snowmobile to Wainwright to attend the local clinic.   One day he took off, actually violating one of the regulations about travel, his destination was Wainwright.  

A blizzard began and the wind was blowing fiercely.  One of the nurses muttered that she didn't like the situation.  Paul wore a two way radio and a locator which beeped faithfully.  When the beeping stopped there was concern that the unit had frozen.  It was uncertain whether Dr. McCord new to keep the locator inside his shirt.  

Search and Rescue took off to go look for him at the last known location.  It was a cabin but Paul was not there.  There was no snowmobile tracks.  He did not arrive at Wainwright.  

One of the doctors came into the medical record department and asked me to find a dictation with his voice on it.  I dug one out and back erased patient names and give it to him.  He in turn was going to give it to Amy.   

His body was never found.  The next year the same doc who wanted the tape for Amy came back in the summer. He searched on his own.  The only thing that ever turned up was Dr. McCord's snow mobile which had washed up on the beach.  

Amy messaged me asking about myself.  She never remarried but had some wonderful relationships. She misses Alaska.  

Alaska can kill you in a variety of ways; the year before I came to Barrow, one of the nurses and a Inupiaq friend went out on the summer ice.  They were never found.  One of the doctors who was a concert flutist, committed suicide once she went home.  We had to try to contract her then gentleman friend who was working in one of the villages to tell him that Clara had died.  Some one was killed when he was welding on a metal tanker.   The corporation was successfully prosecuted for murder.  Strange but true, a friend of mine from the department was on the jury. 

The Inupiaq people often name their babies after a death of either a friend or family member.  I do not know if there were any babies born at that time whose middle name was Paul, but I would not be surprised.  I am very certain there are no babies with the middle name of Royce, 'cuz, I ain't dead yet. 

COUPLE OF DREAMS AND WHAT THEY MEAN

 Recently, I have had a couple of dreams.One was where I was at work in my former profession and I was working for a doctor.  The dream was both colorful and we were talking,  This rarely happens, most of my dreams are in vivid color.  

At any rate, we were traveling somewhere and we were looking at a map that showed the best route to the airport. A to Z dream interpretation did not have an entry for commuting, however travel says seeing yourself at work indicates that one needs to remember an old lesson.  Erm... okay.

The second dream, I call Qua Zulu, it involved me watching people in a society where people were easily discarded.  I saw a place where people were wrapped in plastic and put in a shiny metal shute which lead to somewhere perilous for the victim.  The person was pulled out of that place.  All of the escapees trained hard at running silent, usually single file.  At a hand gesture, they all disappeared into the surroundings.  All of them were tall, fit and dressed in Masai garb, holding a very sharp spear, wearing the single cloth garment draped over one shoulder.  A to Z cites a Warrior needs to confront life challenges.  Rebellion means it is time to stand up for oneself.  I find myself bemused at these insights because as an alpha female, I have never had a problem standing up for myself.  Sweet dreams.

DRIVE TWO MS BERGLUND, JONES AND MOI

 At some point in the mid 80's to 90's, Mom decided that a number of us should attend the Cousins Reunion in Lancaster, Missouri.

The group that eventually assembled consisted of Mom, Ellen, Carla and myself.  Mom and I started off from Emmett on our way to meet Ellen in Casper, Wyoming.  I was living in California when the folks and the remaining kids went back east to visit Phil and Sherry by way of Yellowstone Park.  

So, we headed to Yellowstone by way of the Tetons.  We hiked to some bubbling geysers and I said to Mom that we could fart ourselves silly and no one would be able to tell.  We did get to Old Faithful and waited patiently for the eruption.  Then we headed to Casper.  

We over nighted there to visit with Jim and his family.  We met Ellen at the bus stop the next morning and took off to Kansas.  We looked for Best Western Motels for sleep and stopped at a lot of Walmarts to stretch our legs.  At this point the party consisted of Mom, Ellen and myself.  

We headed for South Dakota. We saw a sign for Wind Caves and decided we would take the tour.  We trooped down into the caves and at one point the guide turned off the lights.  Yep, very dark.  On the way back we passed some elevators.  What!? Why I oughta... 

We drove on to Mount Rushmore and viewed the presidents.  (Can you imagine Trump up there?) The travels continued on into Minnesota and we went to Rochester to see the Mayo Clinic.  We noticed that there was a tour of the Mayo mansion.  So we hopped on the bus. The tour was rather neat.  The estate is fairly good sized.  We passed a greenhouse which was covered completely in glass radiography plates.  

We drove to Mall of America and over nighted there. The next morning we were there chanting "Open! open! open!".  That was awesome, couldn't possible visit all of the shops.  We did get lunch. 

We then left for Ohio.  We crossed a bridge into Wisconsin just to day we had done so.  We wandered through Ohio, toured the house where  "Little House on the Prairie" author lived at one time. We shopped in an Amish store which sold quilts, I purchased a small pillow cover. Then after over nighting,listening to tornado warnings, we headed to Kansas.  

We picked Carla up at the Kansas City airport.  I don't remember the official name but it was largish.  Carla had picked up a book containing Bed and Breakfasts and there was one that looked good in Hannibal, Missouri.  She booked two rooms for the four of us and away we went.  We got there in the early evening and played pinochle until the proprietor started setting up tables for breakfast.  

The next morning we ate and toured downtown Hannibal, went through the house where Mark Twain lived as a boy.  We also saw ads for a tour of the Stone House.  Wanna go? Yep.  The house is situated on a bluff well above the river.  It is a huge mansion with a spacious basement where the kitchen and laundry were located.  The ground floor consisted of several very expensively decorated rooms.  One room was decorated in rolls of silk which cost one hundred dollars per roll.  The grand staircase lead up to a landing that split left and right. Mark Twain delivered a speech from that landing.  The next floor contained bedrooms, Master, Mistress and children.  The Mistress bedroom had a large ceramic bidet.  Looked rather difficult to use as it was only about six inches above the floor.  The third floor contained a very large ballroom. The fourth floor contained school rooms for the children.  There was a large map on one wall that only held one tattered piece remaining.  Over the years it was considered very daring for some young men to sneak into the house and tear off a piece of that map to prove that they had indeed sneaked into the Robber Barons home.  The gentleman's fortune was from timber.  

The next day we drove north to Lancaster, Missouri to stay with Mom's cousin.  We attended the reunion in a small town famous for its Blue Grass Festival.  I met people who I would have never guessed that I would meet.  Old gossip was trotted out.  By old, I mean from several generations ago!  I learned who was divorced etc.  I also heard a story about a young girl.  Her mother was heard to shout at her, "Julia, I do believe you have a buzz saw in your ass." Julie apparently was rather hard on underwear.   We visited with a quite elderly sister to Grandma Horn.  I saw fire flies for the second time in my life.  

We headed home, we dropped Carla off in Kansas City where she caught a plane home to Seattle.  Away we went.  Once we got to the Colorado border, Ellen drove, put the pedal to the medal and got us to Elizabeth, Colorado in time for supper.  

Mom and I left the next day headed for home.  We stopped in Montgomery, Idaho which is near the the Hole in the Wall Gang hung out.  The restaurant menu had hot pastrami sandwich.  I ordered one.  It was apparent that the people there thought the the P in pastrami stood for pork.  Because I got a hot fried ham sandwich.  Oh well.  We over nighted there and got home the next day.  Over all it was a lot of fun. 

HIGHSCHOOL

 In October of 1964, my girl friends and I decided to have a Halloween party.  There was Karen, Margaret (Class Valedictorian), Rosanne and myself.  They were tall, brainy, belonged to the National Honor Society and I was simply there for comic relief.

Karen's house was the logical place, it had a nice big basement with a pool table, bedroom and bathroom.  I was impressed with the house for a couple of things, there were intercoms in each room and one of the shower doors had butterflies embedded in the door and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. 

We spent a couple of weeks begging for bales of hay and cornstalks with which to decorate.  And of course it was costume.  The invites were simply announced at school and about forty kids showed up.

 There was music (record player), food, soft drinks and the pool table was very  popular.  I decided to be the fortune teller.  I set up a card table in the bedroom.  Some one had scared up an actual crystal ball and we used a flashlight for dramatic up lighting in the darkened room. I was, of course, dressed up as a Gypsy fortune teller, mostly scarf on head, long skirt and as many bangles that I could find.  

I would usher in each person and I used an immersive story telling technique.  I told them, "You are in a forest, please describe it. " Then I would ask, "You see a path in the forest, please describe it."  Next question was, "You see some sort of obstacle, please describe the obstacle.  Can you get past the obstacle?"  The final question was, "You see a bear, please describe the bear". 

The first time I read this and mentally answered the questions it went something like this.  My forest was very old, very tall pine trees.  The path was a smooth white sandy path and went straight through the trees.  The obstacle was a fence of logs across the path, I could easily climb it.  I saw a bear cub.  

The general interpretation is that the forest represents your environment, the path is how you navigate your life, the obstical represents how you solve your problems.  The bear represents death, whether true death or the death of your ambitions or projects.  

We had a Scavenger Hunt.  One of the items on the list was a church key.  Most everyone brought back a can opener, but one young lady went home and got the actual key to her church.  While we waited for the stragglers to come back, we heard that one of the kids had rolled their car.  

So about twenty kids went fogging to the emergency room of the local hospital.  We were a bit noisy, so they told us to go home.  The pretty much ended the Halloween Party.  It took us a couple of day to clean up the basement, take the hay bales back and I think the cornstalks went to some local place to feed some animals.

TRAVELS WITH THE FOLKS AND FOOD THEREIN

 I got to thinking a few days ago about how Dad would ask Mom if she wanted to go for a drive.  If she said, "I don't care." That meant road trip! And it meant purchasing food from the store, nothing homemade.  

Depending on the length of the trip, Dad would purchase a gallon of root beer which could be purchased at the A&W in Boise.  The other traveling food stuff was maple bars and or cans of Vienna sausage. 

Occasionally, Dad would purchase a roast whole chicken.  We little savages would upon that poor chicken, devouring the entire thing, bones and all.  This would be at an outdoors picnic table, no mess allowed in the car. 

The trips themselves would usually involve a trip to Mountain Home. From there would travel back to Emmett with a stop at the Boise Berglunds.  

If the trips were shorter, just around the valley, Mom and Dad would discuss where the old farmhouse was that the stayed in as a teenager.  Dad would rebuild all the power lines he worked on.  We knew we weren't going to be fed and we were bored out of our minds.

Today when we went shopping, I decided to buy a couple cans of Vienna sausage.  Boy, have times changed.  The cans back in the day were oblong and had a key to fit in the to metal strip to open the cans.  This was Mom's job for some weird reason.  

The cans I purchased today, were round, probably only hold six sausages.  The can itself is a pop top.  I purchased two just in case there was an emergency case of nostalgia.  What packaging nightmare is next? Plastic!?

Another thing we often did while Sunday Driving was sing in the car. The car had no radio.  We sang the popular tunes from "The Hit Parade".  This was a show where various artists would sing songs from the top hits and it became difficult at each week they had to come up with a different interpretation of the same song.  We got to the lyrics fairly well that way.  

When we eventually rode in a car which had a radio, if Mom thought we sang the same song a bit too much along with radio, she would reach over and turn off the radio.  End of party. 

One very early trip, when Richard and I were three and four, the folks drove to Seattle.  We parked outside this ladies house while the folks knocked.  We were invited in and the lady made cinnamon toast.  It was wonderful.  I never had it again until adulthood.  Mom simply never made it.  I am sure we begged to eat the wonderful, delicious cinnamon toast.  These days I mix cinnamon with Splenda for my toast.  Tasty, no sugar.  Yummm.