Stuck in a mirror

It was morning, early Wednesday morning.  0415.  So, you see I was awake but still immersed in a dream state of some sort which those more erudite than I, say psychologists etc., can and would put a name to.  Yes, I was aware that I was dreaming and the scene in my dream was intriguing enough to keep me suspended there, evaluating with logical, not dream state, mindset.

My attention was drawn to inspect an occurrence outside a non-descript dwelling in which I was located.  I can't say what drew my attention outside but there I was observing a package lying in the street.  It was a cardboard box, the kind seen with Amazon, USPS, UPS and FedEx shipments.  

Examining the package for info: recipient name and or address, shipping name etc. soon revealed no information on the box whatsoever.  the box was maybe, 2 inches thick and measured, perhaps, 3 feet wide and 6 feet long; slightly smaller than a sheet of plywood.

Still seeking some form of identification to direct me in finding someone to contact, I used my ever-ready Swiss Army knife to open the box.

Inside was a oak rimmed mirror.  But when I looked into the mirror, it was not my reflection I observed, but that of a young woman.  At first, I thought it was a picture or a painting, but peering around the edges revealed myself and surroundings reflected back from the surface of the mirror.

Remember, I'm in an awareness state of dreaming.  Puzzled, I try to make some sense of what I'm experiencing.  The woman peering out at me was unfamiliar.  In my "real life" I easily recognize faces and frequently make associations.  You know, like, "she looks like so and so."  And so and so doesn't have to be someone famous.  It could be a friend, neighbor, co-worker or any acquaintance.

The young women in the mirror elicited no associations for me.

She was neither attractive nor homely.  Her face was pleasant enough with no outstanding features, hook nose, or full lips. or oversized eyebrows.  I fact, I don't think she had any makeup on.  All that to say, she had a pleasant countenance, neither smiling nor frowning, with no outstanding identifying features.  Her hair was cut in a short bob style coming just below her ear lobes with no discernable part and was thick brownish blonde in color.  She had on a camel-colored overcoat suitable for a brisk fall day over a white, round collared blouse.

That's it.  I let my thoughts meander in search of whether this was something I could write an abbreviated essay about.  And, in my ever-present naive way of thinking, I asked myself; "have you or anyone you know ever found yourself stuck in a mirror?"  After rudimentary and miniscule research of Google, I discovered that this "stuck in a mirror" phenomenon is quite normal or at least more common an occurrence than I have ever come across in my 80 years.  Usually, I understand, the person stuck in the mirror is the observer, unlike my dream where I observed a stranger.  I'm not interested in psychoanalyzing my dream only in describing it.

Getting older

Truthfully, I never would have guessed I'd live this long. I thought I was going to die in the sweatbox/monsoon jungles of Vietnam at 17. God, fate, or dumb luck intervened and I plodded on. AT 30, I thought, " crap, this is it. I'm over the hill; I'm an old man now." It was devastating, "who lives a worthwhile life, after turning 40. Jeeze!" I thought I'd die in my 58th year; genetics and all that there. Once I'd survived 58, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other; setting goals, achieving them and so on. When I retired at 75, from a job I loved, beyond description, I thought, what next; pick out your burial urn? Did that; now what? Recently I wondered; "what's it like to get old?" Well, I don't know! But if I ever do, I'll write to let you know. Gotta go now; pickleball awaits.

Edie Wicks

Edith Ann Wicks, a friend, a girlfriend, and a lover. She was a neighbor and we became romantically involved in my sophomore, her freshman, year of highschool. we broke up twice, (slow learners,) and today I'm here to say, too late, I'm sorry for the way I ended our relationshps, twice. I was a cad, a scoundrel and you deserved much better. Edith Wicks DeConno died on January 6, 2025. She started her journey on the road of life 1 year and 3 months after me. Fate, whatever that is, brought her to the finish line ahead of me, to my chagrin. Many times over the years spent on this journey, I've contemplated trying to get in touch with Edie to offer my sincerest apology for my ungentlemanly behavior in terminating our relationship, but alas, for many reasons, mostly believing that she would not care to hear from me ever again, I failed to act and now it's too late. Some might say; young love is a fagile relationship that often ends as the lovers grow and move on. For sure, that is the case. I have been through many romantic relationships (okay a few is a more appropriate word than many.) that once ended, left me with no desire to revisit. Edie loved me with all her being and each time I left her, it broke her heart. From her obit, it appears that she moved on and married and had a close loving relationship for 55 years, decorated with children and grandchildren and friends. I wish with all my heart that this is true, and that after a short time, she never gave thought to me again. I will carry this regret with me these last few steps to the end of the road of life, which looms closer and closer with each step. Perhaps on the other side our paths will converge once again. If we are in the same place, I pray forgiveness abounds. RIP Edie.

hope

Yes, Barb. Hope is what carries us through changing times. We hope, as our ancestors did, that we will return from the battle fields. We hope for success and happiness for our children, our friends and neighbors. Hope is the child of love. Hope is the antidote for despair. 

As I sit, daily, on my porch, in the wee early morning, I sip my elixir, read my friend's words, and gaze at the flickering candlelight, renew my faith that all will be as it should be. I vow to change the things I can and leave the rest to God... And hope.

Frank C. Larock

Frank Charles (Xavier) LaRock Frank LaRock was born in Ogdensburg, NY in 1879; the 6th child of John Noel and Matilda Farrand LaRock. I have limited information of his early life. However, deducing from birthdates, I know the first 3 of his 11 children were born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I have a photo-postcard of Frank driving a horse drawn hack(taxi) in that city. Anecdotal lore says that in 1910 he was living in Ogdensburg, NY. For an unspecified period of time he worked with/for his brothers, James and Joseph, both of whom each operated a grocery store in Ogdensburg. In 1915 he became the owner/renter of the building, on Main Street in Morristown, NY. where the current Post Office is housed. I’m unsure of ownership because the family resided in a number of homes in the village; Uncle Tom was born in 1916 in the home on Morris St. across the street from Howard Warren’s. My dad, Robert, was born in 1920 in the double apartments on Water St. I have a portrait of the family sitting on the veranda of that home. From 1915 ‘til 1923-24 Frank operated a general store in the building on Main Street. In 1923, Franks wife, Mary Story LaRock died at age 43 of Bright’s disease (nephritis.) At that time the family was living in the apartment over the store. Henry Dake took over the store circa 1924. In 1927, Frank’s oldest brother, Joseph LaRock, operated the store as a dish-ware store until his death in 1937. Gloria Johnson welcomed me and my family to Morristown in 1975 and presented me with a pair of porcelain cups and saucers from a child’s set, that was given to her when she was a child, living across from the store by Joseph’s wife, Nell Dickinson LaRock, as a Christmas gift. ————— ———- ————. ———— ————- ———— ———- ———- ———— ——- Frank went to work as a traveling salesman for the Miller Paper Company. (Chuck Kelly’s Dad, John, told me he worked with my grandfather, Frank, at that time.) Frank remarried a spinster and Village librarian, Ethel Ackerman, they resided in a home across Gouveneur Street from Howard Scott’s. That house has, since, been torn down. Frank died in 1933 at age 54 of stomach cancer under the care of Ogdensburg surgeon, Dr. J. E. Free. Jimmy Smithers (Jane Smither’s dad) told me about the day Joseph LaRock died; at the time Joe and Nell resided in the apartments over the store. Joe scummed to a heart attack. Apparently Joe was a large man of 300 lbs or so. The Morristown fireman had quite a time getting Joe’s body down those narrow stairs on the outside of the store leading up to the apartment. Joesph, it’s said, cheated his siblings out of their inheritance when his parents died. And his wife, Nell, said to have been a prostitute from Oswego when he married her, ran off with all his money with her boyfriend. Joesph is buried in Oswego.

Autumn chorus

 

Good morning, my fellow early morning risers. While many of us relish this opportunity to catch a glimpse of a brilliant full moon traversing the sky or the August Perseid shower or even to just gaze upon the myriads of twinkling star light, I relish the appearance of things closer to my perch on my veranda while enjoying my fist cuppa by candlelight; white tail deer browsing my apple tree drops 20 yards away. This morning, I was greeted by the love songs of bow strings present only in late summer: this cool late August brought the persistent cacophony of cricket mating season! Male crickets in untold numbers are singing; choose me, choose me. For its the female who chooses their mate. Rejoice, it's cricket mating season. Love songs fill the air.

Is it ok to be boring?

A friend posted this on Face Book recently and it got me to thinking, is it ok to be boring? which, in turn reminded me of the time I took my youngest son to work with me in the summer between his high school graduation and beginning his freshman year of college.  Since neither of my older 2 children showed any interest in the healthcare field, I felt I should, at least, expose my last child to the health care field through the lens of my vocation of Nurse anesthetist (CRNA.)

He came to the operating room for the day and was able to observe both a couple of surgical procedures as well as me administering anesthesia.

On the drive home at the end of the day I asked him. "So, what did you think of surgery and anesthesia?"

Now for reference sake; one of the surgical procedures was a rectal procedure.

"As far as surgery goes," he says, "I could have gone my whole life without seeing that and been ok with that!"

"And anesthesia?" I prompted again.

"I don't want to offend you dad, but anesthesia is pretty boring."

He went on to say, "I know you want it to be boring, dad, because if it's not boring then something is going wrong, and the patient is in danger." But still, it's boring.

I went on to explain that the art and science of administering anesthesia requires intense knowledge as how to make anesthesia safe and boring.  A high percentage of surgical patient's greatest fear is the fear of not waking up from anesthesia.  I do my best to have each patient have the most boring and safe anesthetic possible.

And you may ask, what career did my son pursue?  Why, the exciting and dynamic profession of CPA (certified public accountant.)

From time to time, I ask my son in conversation; "what exciting things did you do at work today?"