Errands

Today was an atypically busy day that got going rather early.  And, typically, since I can never seem to get to bed early when I have things to do the next day, I didn’t go to bed until 12:30 this morning (that’s AM for those of you keeping score).

With the Coronavirus going on, the state where I live has been very kind in letting lapsed car inspections go unnoticed (and unticketed) by the various police agencies.  But since that’s not likely to be a situation that’s going to go on forever, I thought it was time to get the vehicle inspected, and on the right side of the law.  I could have had it done a multitude of places, but figured since it was the first time since we leased it last year, I’d get it done at the same ‘flavor’ of dealer where it was gotten (it’s a Nissan, so it needed in my mind to be inspected at a Nissan dealership).

Too, it’s been over a year since we leased it, and we’ve driven it a little under 6000 miles so it was time for an oil change as well.  In theory, it probably should have gotten it a thousand miles ago, but that was over 90 days ago, and coronavirus so, it got pushed back.  Since it is lubricated by synthetic oil, I figure there wasn’t much (if any) problem with waiting for another 800-900 miles, and as it turned out, there wasn’t any mention made at the dealership about the time frame.

Needless to say, when I called last month to get an appointment, I honestly didn’t think they were going to schedule me two freaking weeks ahead.  And of course (timing) it just so happened to be on the day we were needing to go to the chiropractor.  Fortunately, they had an appointment as soon as they opened the doors (8 am) so that’s what I snapped up, since I was going to have to drive 25 miles to get there.  And I’m rather used to being up that early anyway.  So it all worked out.

Usually with this particular dealer, their service department takes it’s sweet time getting things done.  Even relatively straightforward things like oil changes and state inspections.  But with the current situation, there are fewer people around, and less time for doing other things other than work, so I was in and out in just about 30 minutes.  Certainly a record.  And since their labor cost is an ungodly $135.00/hr, I can’t complain about that either.  I was actually back home in under two hours, even with a stop at my local McDonald’s for breakfast.

Round two was going to the chiropractor, in another county up the road.  The route we take is quite scenic, KLWT-map-2020-wineries-only 6meandering up along the east side of Keuka Lake, one of the New York Fingers.  Seeing as I was antsy about being back home in time to collect the wife to get to our appointment, it just so happened to turn out that we had approximately an hour or so between the time I got back, and the time that we had to be leaving.  It’s about a 40 minute drive there, and as it’s summertime, there’s bound to be some construction of some sort on the roads, so we always leave a bit of leeway in travel time.  As with any doctor, there’s bound to be some waiting time, but the way that we manage things, our wait time is never more than 5-10 minutes.  Which is pretty sweet.  Needless to say, since my birthday had been a little while ago, I was due for what they call a ‘scan’, which is a computerized image of my spine, though non-invasive.  I’ve been having them since I started with this chiropractor and they’re a good tool for him to use over the course of the following year to see how well he’s doing with his adjustments, and how well I am doing with my progress in getting better with his assistance.  It doesn’t hurt that my insurance through my union pays some of the cost of the therapy, so all in all, I’d call it a win-win.  Though I’m not terribly sure what I’m going to do when he retires!

Finally, I had a call from the service that my union utilizes for medical issues, that I have to have every month.  Last month I wasn’t able to have the call, since there was a conflict, so it had been rescheduled for 7 in the evening, which wasn’t terribly convenient, but sometimes you just have to do what you can with what’s available.  Beth has been calling pretty promptly, and we’ve developed a rapport over the past 7-8 months we’ve been talking to one another.  I like her style, in that she seems interested in getting me along with the program, not just reading from the book in front of her; she takes notes and follows along with my progress, asking me pointed questions and not just doing things by rote.  With her assistance I’ve managed to lose about 15 lbs, and I look forward to talking to her in the future, and she’s not judgmental.  She understands that there are peaks and valleys, there’s going to be times when I’m not losing weight, or hitting a plateau or whatever, and she’s ok with that.

All in all, it was a pretty full day.  I managed to get to bed at a decent hour, since I needed to be to work the next morning at 8.

Can’t quite let go of home

I grew up in the Hudson Valley of New York State.  As of this August however, I will have lived here almost the same amount of time that I spent where I grew up.  One would think that could equate in one’s mind where home is.  But it doesn’t.  The old adage goes ‘home is where you hang your hat’ and to a certain extent that’s true.

If one were to walk through my house here, there’s more things that scream ‘Hudson Valley’ than say ‘Finger Lakes’.  Above the couch in the den there’s a map of the town I grew up, circa 1781.  In the addition here, there’s a clock that says “(Town Name) Beer and Ale‘ that I got from eBay.  And so on.  Items all over my current life that harken back to where I came from, not where I currently live.  As infrequently as I go to Facebook, one of the groups that I check in with more often than not is the one where people who I went to school with, played golf with, and did a myriad of other things people do in their hometown congregate.  Marvel at the newest iteration in the town, or mourn with others when the obituary references are posted of people that either I knew, or my parents did (lately some of my mother’s ‘cronies’ have appeared, like Mrs. Kane who died earlier this year).

When I visited my birth mother two years ago, we spent more time in my comfort zone than in hers.  Considering that we’d been separated by 50 years (I was adopted 3 days after being born), she wanted to see where I grew up, where I went to school and so on.  I showed her the house where I lived for 27 years, now owned by someone else.  We weren’t permitted to go into the house as the owner was elderly and didn’t feel comfortable opening the house to someone he didn’t know.  Which I understand, it was a longshot at best but I would have liked to show my mother all the little quirks of the house as I remembered them.  It’s the historian in me that laments the loss of what could have been, but I’m grateful at least they allowed us to walk the grounds of the house, so I could soak it all in again.  Over the years when in the area I’ve driven past the property, but this was the first time since 1992 that I was able to actually walk the property.

As I get older, I think of what I’m going to be eventually leaving behind.  If someone were to write a history of my life, what would they dig up and post for someone (anyone) to read or care about?  Would they say that I’m a child of the Hudson Valley, or a resident of the Finger Lakes?  On occasion, when vacationing elsewhere, I’ve thought about moving to that area, but never pulled the trigger to do so.  The last time this happened was when I was visiting someone in Colorado Springs in 1990.  I spent a week in Colorado, had a wonderful time and while sitting in a cafe downtown, I seriously thought about moving there.  What stopped me was the consideration that, after six months there (or less) I would imagine the ‘newness’ of being there would wear off.   I’d be going to my job every day, and living my life, and it would become ‘normal’.  It would no longer be new or exciting.  So I might have been better off staying where I was.  As it turned out, that was probably the best choice, as the person I was visiting and I failed to keep that connection and we went out separate ways six months down the road.  But again, it was a ‘what might have been’ moment.

I’m a child of the Hudson Valley, yes.  But a resident of the Finger Lakes.  Just have to marry the two somehow, I suppose.  At least until I move somewhere else.  Then the process will begin again.