Walter the Cat and Mr. Neb
For anyone under 50, Walter Brennan was a popular movie star of the “old” generation. He often played crotchety sidekicks, or grandfathers. Part of his portrayal was a “hitch in his get along”, better known as a limp. I was astounded to see him at an awards ceremony and find out he did not have a real limp, it was just part of the act.
A few days ago, Bob, our older cat, developed a sever limp. Whether, she and Frankie, the little one, got into a fight, if she fell off something, if she tried to outrun a mouse, who knows, but the limp was serious. We took her to the vets, where she was folded, stapled and manipulated beyond belief by the vet during his exam. The result was a cat with a much worse limp, and the news that she has basically blown her knee ligaments. Better known as the Joe Namath Knee. The vet thinks the trauma of surgery would be harder on an old cat than the stress of the injury. I’m glad because the stress on the wallet of the owner would be worse than the trauma of seeing her limp. She seems quite fine with the whole thing. Since she sleeps 23 hours a day and since she does not need much athletic ability to catch her food dish, I think we will rename her Walter and forget it.
Last Monday I went to the Human Vet, to see if she could do anything about my cough. I started about six weeks ago and the cough has gotten steadily worse. By New Year’s Day I was starting to feel run down and found sitting on the couch doing nothing much preferable to getting up and doing anything – except eating Kate’s chocolate chip cookies, which did lure me of the couch way too often.
At any rate, the Dr. went over me thoroughly and decided I have asthma. Well, I never did, and I don’t think I do now, at least not what I think of as asthma, but a rose by any other name is still a long term cough so what the heck. She prescribed some new antibiotic and a nebulizer – MR. NEB. She warned me the Nebulizer might make me nervous and jumpy.
I went home, hooked up the wires, tubes secret medicine vials and blew drugs down my throat, all the time thinking where was this stuff in the sixties when I could have used it. Anyway, the first night, the results were really good. No side effects and the cough let up. The next morning I fixed a big cup of coffee and hooked myself up for the AM fix. Within an hour my arm took on a life of its own and started jumping, my heart rate was around 100 and I was pacing the floor. Somewhat alarmed I Googled the drug. One recommendation jumped out at me. “Avoid Caffeine while on this drug” Gee, couldn’t they have mentioned that?

Forty One Years Ago
At approximately 11:20 in the morning of December 21, 1968, Kathryn McDarby and William Edward Corcoran were joined in the Holy Bonds of Matrimony. A reception followed at the Stockport Fire House, catered by Mrs. Harold McDarby and attended by a host of friends and relatives. The couple honeymooned in downtown Sidney, New York.
So history records the event. Here are some of the little known facts (or perhaps all too well known facts).
On September 12, 1967 Phi Delta Rho Fraternity hosted a party with Pi Chi Sorority at the old City Hall in Oneonta. I went, danced with some Phi Chi chicky and graciously waited around for her while she was in the bathroom franticly trying to figure out a way to dump the dork outside the door. But I did have a car, and we were having a date party the following Saturday and that was a hard ticket to score, so all in all she would tolerate me for one date.
One thing led to another and before long we were seeing each other quite a bit -- for exactly 41 days. After that, we never spent more than three days in the same place until we were married. First I went student teaching and was in Oneonta only on the weekends, then she went student teaching and was only in town on the weekends, then summer, then Kay went back to school and I started teaching at JC.
What cemented our relationship was all the time we spent in a car – a moving car. I was her only transportation between student teaching assignments and Oneonta. I had an old green Chevy 2 without a radio. On the long trips from Oneonta to Illion or Balston Spa there was nothing to do but talk. And in the talking was the sharing and in the sharing was the love.
By New Years of 1968 I was sure I wanted to spend a lot of time with someone who I knew would always tell me the truth, no matter what and would still love me no matter what the truth was.
My big plan was to get engaged at our Date weekend in May of 1968. I had it all worked out. While we were horseback riding through the forest, I would give her the ring and make a great speech. What a dumb ass idea!!!. As I turned to propose, her horse decided lunch at the barn was much more important and clearly the person on his back couldn’t do much to stop him. I rounded up the horse and got her back on the trail, but the moment was lost.
We did get engaged, and we built a wonderful plan. I would get a job, she would finish college and the following summer we would get married. I would have saved a good deal of money, she would have a job and we would be on easy street. Only that meant being apart another year. In July, I was at her house in Columbiaville for the weekend. On Sunday I went to Mass and as I was sitting there it just came over me that I didn’t want to wait another year. I went back to the house and we all sat around the kitchen table with most votes being , “ not the most practical idea” but the two that counted being “Yes”
So, we decided to get married over Christmas break of 1968. That meant we had to find a place half way between Oneonta and Johnson City. That should be easy!! Except my take home pay was $362 a month. Telephone, electric and heat would run us $56 a month, gas for the cars cost us about $40 a month, and insurance cost us another $54 a month. College tuition and expenses sucked $30 a month from our budget and paying for living room furniture cost $23 a month. We could eat for $60 a month, but that would leave only $120 for rent and extras. That meant the lovely apartments available were out of our price range and the ones we could afford we couldn’t live in.
We looked at some amazing dumps. Finally, we answered the very last add. It was for a garage apartment on River Street in Sidney. It was an ugly, asbestos shingled building that sat way back on the river. But when we saw the inside, it was gorgeous. The floor was immaculate, the appliances were modern and spotless and it had lots of room. We grabbed it at $100 a month.
Kay’s mother planned the catering, the showers were held and finally it was December. We had a faculty meeting at school Thursday December 19th. They gave me a $50 check as a wedding present. I used it to fill up the car and to buy our first Christmas tree. I got to Sidney, set up the tree, decorated it and drove on to Columbiaville. We spent Friday cleaning the Fire House with help from Kay’s cousins, had a nice party at Kay’s parents house and I spent the night with my brother and parents in a motel outside of Hudson.
The next morning we were married, much to the objection of the Priest who felt marrying someone not of the Catholic faith was not a real wedding anyway. Bob Stark hid my car in a parking lot up the street so it would not be “decorated” I hope he knew how much I appreciated it. I had a great time at the reception; we were nearly the last to leave. We stopped at a hotel on Windham Mountain for the first night. I remember we were the only ones there and all through dinner we were entertained by a black cat that was playing on the stage. ( or hunting dinner which I chose not to think about)
The next morning I woke up with the most romantic thought in the world going through my head, “ What the hell have I done? I’m not ready for any of this.” Ten years later Kay told me she woke up thinking exactly the same thing.
I was excited to get back to Sidney and see the surprised expression on Kay’s face when she saw my Christmas tree. I got the surprised look, but I had one as well. During the three days I had been gone, every single needle on the tree had fallen off, dumping them and the decorations in a big pile under the tree. Never buy your Christmas tree in a gas station.
We unpacked our wedding presents. Bob Stark gave us three stainless steel mixing bowls which we still use nearly every day but most people gave us money. That money saved our lives. We spent most of the honeymoon buying the essentials for starting up a home. I remember how exciting it was to be together and to buy things that would be “ours”. Most of what we bought, we still use or we used it until it just wore out. The one casualty I still feel bad about was a set of salt and peppershakers. The salt was a little girl owl and the pepper was a boy owl. We had them on the counter in the kitchen. One night the cabinet fell off the wall and crushed the pepper shaker beyond repair. We still have the widowed salt shaker, but I miss her buddy to this day. It was one of the first things we bought together.
Time moved and shifted and life forced us to move on to new times. Most have been good, but I think, if heaven allows you to relive parts of your life, the nine months we spent in Sidney would be one part I would visit again and again.

The great crisis of life is not that we are unaware of our faults, but that we are all too aware of them. There came a time when I was so consumed by my failings I sunk into self hatred and self loathing. How could I be responsible for such harm to people I cared about? How could I be the great betrayer, the great enemy? I reached a level of such ebony despair I lost all laughter.
And then, between one step and another, I felt a great cosmic hug. With it came this perfect peace. And I knew things. I knew I would never be judged for what I was not, but cherished for what I was. I knew that “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” meant that we would be forgiven in the exact way, with the exact mercy, compassion and understanding we extended others. I knew that “what you have done for the least of your brothers” did not refer only to the poor or downtrodden, but the people in our lives we are the angriest at. I knew that “you cannot serve two masters” included the choice between hate and love.
I knew that God was not some great scorekeeper sending childhood cancer or car wrecks or floods to teach humanity some lesson, but that God would use those natural tragedies to work great miracles within us ---- if we would only listen. But, God never shouts, he whispers in the gentlest ways, and if you are not attentive, you will miss his words. Fear not, he will try again and again.
I knew that if God could love as disreputable, broken, and sinful a person as me, what arrogance for me to not see every other creature on earth in that light. I knew I would spend the rest of my life whittling down the log in my eye and ignoring the speck in others eyes.

How often do we pass by a spot, a street corner, a house, an old building and give it no thought, only to have that place become a center point in our lives at a later date?
When I was a wee lad, still confined to a stroller, my father would take my brother and I into an empty field to fly kites. At the time we were living on the corner of Margaret and Floral Avenue in a second floor apartment. At the other end of Margaret Street, the old Kilmer farm lands were empty fields. The only structure in the area was the National Armory. Now, I was all of three years old, so all I know is what I was told, but apparently I sat in my stroller and watched clouds float or grass grow, because it seems the kites rarely flew. But once the kite disappeared, or crashed beyond repair, I would be freed, and the three of us would cavort all over the empty space. Incredibly, at some juncture of space, the three year old me wandered over the exact spot my someday three year old grandchild will wander over. Only it will be his living room.
How many times did I walk through the halls of Lincoln School as a child with no idea I would end a career there? Or when I sat in Mrs. Latta’s sixth grade class, could I have imagined that one day I would be in charge of that same room?
One year, we took a field trip to Cooperstown. On the way there the bus stopped in Oneonta at this dumpy diner on Chestnut Street. Nine years later, I would live a few yards from Nick’s and would spend a lot of hours there.
While at Oneonta, I would often hitchhike home for a weekend. Most of the time, I would be deposited someplace near Hillcrest. I would walk to the old Grand Union ( Now Laura’s Luncheonette ) and call home. Dad would jump in the car and come to fetch me; I would start walking down Chenango Street watching for the old Crown Victoria. How many times did I walk by 719 Chenango Street with no idea I would spend most of my life there?
In the summer of 1965, my mother, father and I drove around the state of Vermont. Dad and I spent several weeks pouring over maps, planning our route. We wanted nothing to do with driving through a gigantic city like Albany so we decided to cross the Hudson River at Catskill and take route 9 north. After passing through Hudson, we must have driven through a little wide spot in the road named Columbiaville. In one of those houses we flew by without much thought there was a young lady. What was she doing that day? Was she in the yard, glancing up as our car whizzed past, totally unaware that she would spend three quarters of her life with the driver?
How many unnoticed , unthought-of places did I pass today?

Just For Fun

I got great pictures of myself yesterday. Usually my pictures look like a wanted poster in Terrorist Central, but this one was clear, pink and healthy looking. You couldn’t see my face, but the inside of my colon looked great.

The whole adventure started about a month ago, when one of the regular health tests showed a “slight” chance of a problem. Since this was the exact phrase used six years ago about my PSA results, it was not reassuring. Three years ago, I would have freaked out, worried myself sick about it and been a wreck. This time, I did what I have come to believe. I scheduled the “Big Exploration” and refused to worry about it until the Monday morning I would need to “prepare”. Oddly, (or is it that miracle world that surrounds us, but we fail to notice) the Saturday before “lift off” we listened to Sister Bridget do a three hour talk on “ Discerning God” , a talk that deserves a writing all its own. Anyway, one of the ways God talks to us is through dreams. Sunday night I must have had a dream. Since the Prostate operation I have lost the ability to remember any dreams I have, but, I woke up Monday morning with total peace that everything was fine.
So the entire event was kind of interesting. And fasting for the entire day revealed some things about myself. For one thing, I could never be a contestant on Survivor. Physical Challenge? I’m ready. A few bugs, dirt, same cloths for forty days? Just like home. Miss breakfast? No morning coffee? Not a chance!!! By the end of the first day I would be actively campaigning for legalized cannibalism. “ Jeff! Vote food off the Island? Are you nuts? Throw them in the pot!” That attitude might hurt my “social” game.
On Monday, I made it until 1 in the afternoon before I started to stare at the cat. Don’t ever think cats are dumb. Frankie took one look at me and disappeared. The “pre” directions said to start drinking the solution at 6 PM. I was ready to start at 5:30. Anything would have been welcome. Most people complain about the solution but, I have drunk worse stuff at Phi Delt Rush parties.
Tuesday morning we went to Lourdes for the big event. I must note that the nurses there were great. They all have a sense of humor and were pleasant beyond belief. After donning the latest fashion gown, they stuck a big needle in my hand and wheeled my cart to the procedure room where I was wired into a monitoring machine. Every five minutes my blood pressure, oxygen content and heart rate were checked. I tried to bio feedback the readings with pretty good results. I got the heart rate from 65 to 58 and the blood pressure from 176/ 107 to 160/ 97. OK , so maybe I wasn’t as relaxed as I thought.
Anyway, the doctor came over, said a few words to me, turned to the nurse and said, “ We will start initiating anesthesia now. You will feel a warm sensation and perhaps a little ------ “
and I was telling Kay I wanted poached eggs for dinner -- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. She agreed and told me the test was perfectly clear --- apparently for the sixth or seventh time. We came home, I had a great afternoon nap and poached eggs for dinner. Life is good!!

I hate changing my cloths!!
I always thought firemen had it nice. Wake up, throw both legs in pants and boots, pull up the suspenders, slam a hat on your head and out the door ready for business. No fuss , no muss and no, “ Those socks don’t match your shirt!” nonsense.
Even as a kid I was mystified by the whole “Proper attire” concept. For a brief time I played with paper dolls. These were semi naked versions of Dagwood and Blondie accompanied by paper outfits that were held in place with paper tabs that fit over the figures shoulders.
My father must have been appalled by the idea his son was playing with paper dolls, but he would have been somewhat relieved to know I was much more interested in the semi naked Blondie than the semi naked Dagwood.
Anyway , there were also little back up scenes included in the sets. Dagwood chopping wood, Blondie baking ham, The Party, Church etc. etc.
I never “got” why Dagwood couldn’t split wood in a suit, or why the ham would not have tasted just as good if Blondie wore an evening dress to cook it. For that matter, if Dagwood was so worried about the ham, why didn’t he hand Blondie the ax and get his rear end in the kitchen.
Well, you can see the social havoc I would have unleashed on the world.
Over the years I have tried valiantly to live out my desires. It has not turned out well.
I once transplanted a large shrub from one part of the yard to another. This involved heavy labor and much water. Fully expecting “ Good job” from my lovely spouse, I was surprised to hear consternation in her voice , “ those are your good shoes!!” In her defense the damn things were never worth much after that. The toes curled up and the insides got really rough.
Then there was the hall painting. “ Why is your good shirt polka dotted?” And where is it written that there are “good jeans” in which we should refrain from applying polyurethane? Are there “bad jeans” worn only to clean sheds ??
Nor is it only work. Countless times I have arrived at the door wallet packed, watch wound, keys clutched in hand only to be greeted with, “ Not in that your not!”
This makes no sense. We are invited to celebrate the special events of others lives, their most happy, sacred and emotional moments. Why does this require us to shove our bodies into stiff cloths, drape a rope around our necks and encase our feet in hunks of dead cow?
In fact I believe it is a female conspiracy. Every secretary at school thought it was their job to check if I was appropriately attired. Even my favorite female students took on the job. They would greet me at the door, give me the once over and either nod approvingly or comment, “So the light was out in the closet again.” Or “ So your wife left before you got up this morning.”
Finally I have drawn a line in the sand. I bought a pair of dress up sneakers that perfectly match my suit. Shoes are a thing of the past.

Shenandoah National Park
We just spent a glorious week at Shenandoah National Park. When we arrived Monday, the forest was pretty green, but by Thursday it was in spectacular attire. On the first day we hiked up to the summit of Compton Gap. This meant about a mile and a half on the Appalachian Trail and then another mile on a side trail. The view was nice, but not much different than the Drive itself.
We checked into Skyland and settled down to celebrate out arrival with a bottle of wine on our veranda. Dinner that night was surprisingly good.
After breakfast Tuesday, we hiked into Rose Canyon. It was a very nice walk down, but we had to be back at Skyland by 12:30 so we tried to set a speed record for climbing 1200 feet in 30 minutes. This did not feel at all enjoyable, but we made it back in time to jump on horses and head into White Oak Canyon. Kay really enjoyed herself and wanted to go Wednesday.
Unfortunately, the wind was so bad on Wednesday, that the horses were not allowed to come out and play, so we headed into Luray for breakfast at Uncle Buck’s. Very nice. Once we got back on the mountain we decided to chance the wind and at least start down White Oak. This canyon was on the lee side of the mountain and once we dropped below the ridge, the wind was manageable. The hike was absolutely perfect. There was an Autumn scent in the air, bright blue sky, 60 degree temperatures and just spectacular scenery. A hike of about three miles brought us to the top of the falls. We seriously thought about going the rest of the way down, but several signs warned that the going was very hard and we should rethink it. So we went back up, with the idea of going out of the park and coming up to the falls from the bottom on Thursday.
Once we were back to Skyland, we decided to drive up to Big Meadow and look for bears. I’m still a little confused as to why this was a good idea, but since no bear felt the need to expose himself, it didn’t matter. But Big Meadow was an interesting place to see.
After packing Thursday we, decided to go down Dark Hollow Falls, then hike out onto Big Meadow and then on the way home, try and go up White Oak from the bottom. Instead, we were so captivated by Dark Hollow falls we stayed there for a long time. Then when we got to Big Meadow we took a two mile forest trail and eventually walked into the Meadow.
Sadly, we needed to head for home. We made Carlisle Pa that night and found a delightful English Pub. (Don’t tell my ancestors)
Of course our trip back to Binghamton was made in a rain storm!!. Our journey ended at 2:30 Friday. The cats were thrilled to see us, but the rest of the Village seemed to have survived quite nicely without us.
It was a great trip, with beautiful scenery, sparkling company and surprisingly good food. I would actually go to Skyland just for the dinners.