Not So Fob-u-lous

 

Not So Fob-u-lous

 

My 2018 Honda HR-V has a keyless start system.  As long as your key fob is with you, all you need to do is press the start button.  To enter the car, the door will unlock when you pull the handle, also as long as the key fob is with you. It is a very nice system.

Except.

What happens when the battery on the key fob runs out?

Today I tried to open the door, but it remained locked.  Pushing the unlock button did work, and the car did start, but I suspected the battery was running low.  I tested with the spare key fob, and everything was dead on that fob. 

I googled and found the key fob battery generally only will last 2-3 years. 

My battery was way overdue.

Not wanting to get stuck unable to enter or start my car due to a dead key fob battery, I ran to the internet again. 

It turns out the battery I need is the same as the one in my bathroom scale, so I figured I would just swap out batteries until I could buy a new one.

I consulted the internet on how to change the battery.  It seemed simple enough, pop open the key fob, pop out the battery, replace it and close-up the key fob.

Mrs. C was at work, so I decided to try the battery switch on the spare fob so if I case I screwed something up, she would not need to know. 

Mrs. C thinks I am incapable of simple fixes. 

She may be right.

I popped open the fob and popped out the battery.  When I did this, all the fob innards, buttons and such also popped out.  This was not good. I had no idea how to put all the pieces back together again.

Back to Mr. Google.

I found a tutorial on how to put a Honda key fob back together.

The tutorial started,

“Often people when changing the battery will not hold the fob together with their thumb…here…like so.  If they don’t do that, pieces will all fall out and you will have a mess!”

Why did the first tutorial on battery changing not specify that little piece of information?

With the help of this tutorial, and with much fumbling and cursing, I was able to put the backup fob back together with the bathroom scale battery, and everything worked as it should.

Now I need to purchase another battery for the main key fob.  I’ll know how to change it, but Mrs. C will not trust me to not screw it up.

Should I admit that I already screwed up on the backup key fob and was finally able to put it back together so I now know how to do it correctly, or should I just take it to the dealer and pay someone to do it for me?

It might seem like a waste of money to take it to the dealer, but I think I would prefer to not admit to screwing it up on my first attempt.

I may be incompetent, but I am not stupid!

An Evening With The Cranky’s

 

An Evening With The Cranky’s

 

So, I’m sitting in bed with Mrs. C watching the Paul Simon special.  A group is announced to do one of his songs and Mrs. C says,

“Where is that Rich dude from the Apprentice?”

Keep in mind that I have known maybe three of the many performers on this special and those, I knew the name but did not recognize as they are now so old.  I even had to ask who the blind dude was…Stevie Wonder for crispy sake…anyway…

“What?”

“That Rich dude from Trump’s show, Celebrity Apprentice.”

“What are you talking about, most of the celebrities were rich.”

“Not a rich dude, a dude named Rich, the one with the big black hat.  He was a real ass.”

“What?  The guy with the big black hat was a good guy.”

“Not the one with the deep voice, he is a good guy, the other one, you know, the real ass, Rich something.”

“OK, I have no idea and what does that have to do with this act?”

“He was in this group.”

“I guess he isn’t anymore.”

“Google it.”

“What should I Google?”

“Google the group.”

“What is the group?”

“I think it’s Rich and Something.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Google the Rich guy on The Apprentice.”

“OK, I get a list of the wealthiest contestants on the show.”

“Google country singer with a big black hat.”

Of course, every country singer in the world wears a big black hat, but how many have the first name Rich?”

More than a few.

“There is a Don, a Charlie, a Tyler, a John, none first name Rich.”

“That’s it, John Rich.  He is in a different group, not this one.  But he was an ass.”

“Who was the good dude with the black hat?”

“The one with the really great deep voice?”

“Yes.”

“Something Tracy I think.”

Five more Google searches later.

“Trace Adkins!”

“That’s him, we liked him.”

Twenty minutes of my life I’ll never get back, but that is:

An Evening With The Cranky’s.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People are Ass-hats…Regulations are Stupid

 

People are Ass-hats…Regulations are Stupid

Just as I have about given up this blog thing, something arises that I must rant about.  Yes, I could rant to Mrs. C, but she just ignores me. It’s like talking to a wall, or Joe Biden giving a speech*.

Anyway.

I seldom go to the grocery store, but when I do it almost always inspires a rant.  Today was no different.  Actually, today’s trip inspired two rants.

The first:

People are ass-hats:

Most times when I go to the grocery store, I am only going to pick up three or four items.  I don’t need a cart, one of those carry around plastic baskets will do just fine.  Except you no longer can find one of those plastic carry around baskets.

WTF?

It seems that New Jersey recently passed a law against stores packing groceries, or anything for that matter, in plastic bags.  I have no problem with this law. It drives me crazy when I buy a pack of gum only to have it handed back to me in a plastic bag;  a waste of money and environmentally dumb. 

Buy some gum, kill a sea turtle.

Anyway, as a result of this new law, people need to bring their own bags to the grocery store, which they forget, so instead they just take their goods home in one of the store’s plastic carry around baskets. It took about a week before the stores ran out of the baskets.

The stores find little reason to buy new ones only to be taken by these ass-hats.  Hence, I have to push a cart around for my three items.

Rant worthy? Probably not, but after all, I am a cranky old man.

The second, also not rant worthy, but then…well, you know:

Regulations are stupid

On the way out of the store I was offered a pack of free face masks.

Free, I tell you! Nice ones too.  Why were they offered for free?

Apparently, they were passed their expired date.

How do face masks expire?  How long is their expiration period?  Does some one get paid to determine how long a face mask can stay on the shelf until it is no longer safe to use?  What can go wrong if I use an expired face mask?  If I catch the flu while wearing an expired face mask, can I sue the store?

There is probably an explanation as to why a face mask must have an expiration date, to which I say with out even hearing said explanation,

BULL SHIT!!

Still, I now have a free pack of expired face masks.  I mostly use them to protect my face from the wind during our cold winters. I suspect the expiration date does not keep the masks from keeping out the cold, so I’m good.

That’s it, end of rants.  Mrs. C thanks you for listening so she does not have to.

 

*Attempt at political humor…I think that is still legal.

Good Thing…Bad Thing…I’m not sure

 

Good Thing…Bad Thing…I’m not sure

On December 11, 2010, Mrs. C.  and I married.  My Brother, the Federal Judge, was our officiant, how cool is that? 

Anyway. 

We were married on December 11, 2010;  12…11...10! Who could forget that date?

Apparently, both of us.

This morning Mrs. C turned to me and said,

“Holy cow, it is our anniversary!  Happy Anniversary!”

“No way!  I totally forgot. I didn’t even get you a card.”

“I forgot too, but I’m pretty sure I bought two cards a few months ago.”

(She always gets two cards, one silly, and one mushy)

We both completely forgot.  Is that a bad thing, or is it a good thing?

I mean I never remember birthdays, even my own.  Most dates are generally just not that important to me.

“It’s your fault, you are supposed to leave some gentle reminders to me a week before the date!”

“I know, I didn’t think about it either.”

12-11-10!  How do you forget that date; and yet we both did.

Do neither of us care anymore?  Are we just that old married couple?

Of course, I snuck down stairs and created a card out of a paper napkin, and tucked in a twenty-dollar bill.  Including money was probably a tacky thing to do, but she got the joke.

She did find the two cards she purchased months ago.

In years past I have given Mrs. C some nice jewelry on this date.  We have gone out to fancy restaurants to celebrate. This day has always been important.

This year, our twelfth, we completely forgot that it was our anniversary date.  We didn't even go out to dinner, Mrs. C had to work.

Has the bloom gone off the rose, or are we just so comfortable in our relationship that we don’t get all nutsy about what is just another day?

Is both of us not remembering this “special day” a bad thing, or is it in some weird way a good thing?

I’m not sure, but you can damn well believe that next year there will be jewelry!

Lift and Roll

 

Lift and Roll

Mrs. C and I seldom fight.  We bicker all the time, but we don’t fight.  There is a difference between bickering and fighting.

There is one area where the bickering comes very close to a fight. 

The bed covers.

Mrs. C is generally cold.  She sleeps under the covers.  I often stay above the covers while just watching TV.  This inhibits her ability to toss and turn while she sleeps, as the covers will not move. 

Let the bickering begin.

Eventually when I am ready to sleep, I crawl under the covers.  Apparently while sleeping I will occasionally toss and turn from time to time.  Apparently when tossing, I also pull the covers with me and off Mrs. C.  This generates a waking-up elbow poke and some half-asleep bickering.

“Stop pulling the covers!”

“I don’t do it on purpose, I roll over, the covers roll with me.  What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop rolling in your sleep!”

“In order to consciously know not to roll in my sleep I would have to be NOT ASLEEP!”

“Then do what I do when I roll over, lift the covers and roll...Learn to do the Lift and Roll!”

“What? Who does that?”

“I do.  I lift them up and roll as the covers settle right back.”

“Once again, in order to consciously do that I would have to be NOT ASLEEP!”

“Well, the alternative is for ME to be NOT ASLEEP when ever you roll over.  You need to learn to lift and roll in your sleep.”

This nightly bickering may soon turn into an actual fight.  Somehow, I am going to have to learn to lift and roll while sleeping.  

WHAT SCARES ME

 

WHAT SCARES ME

 

I live in a traditionally low crime suburb of New York City.  We have always had the occasional shop-lifter, drunk drivers, and people who are not polite.  None of these societal misfit actions ever scared me.  Not a fan, but never scared me.

A few weeks ago, a few miles from my home, a lady in a BMW stopped at traffic light in the middle of the afternoon when a car pulled up next to her, a person jumped out, tapped on her window with a pistol, pulled her out of her car, hopped in, and both cars drove away.

That scares me.

In the big cities, they don’t just shoplift, groups just walk in, tell the store keepers to fuck off and calmly load up bags of goods, then walk away.  If these crimes are in the city they will soon reach my nice safe enclave.

That scares me.

Around the country there are stories of people randomly being accosted and beaten.  Sometimes for money and or electronics, sometimes seemingly just for sport.

That scares me.

Recently Elon Musk bought out media giant Twitter.  He is planning on making Twitter a free speech platform.  Twitter will not be actively monitoring all opinions.  If someone wants to claim the Earth in is not round, they now can print such “disinformation.”

Many people are very upset over this.

Somehow, That does not scare me.

“The Election was stolen!”

Interesting, let me think about that, let me do some research…probably not, but the opinion does not scare me.

“Covid is a fake, made up by the Government to control the little people!”

Interesting, let think about that…no! That is ridiculous.

Still not scared.

Point is, disinformation does not scare me, I am able to think.  Repression of information deemed as disinformation, by someone I never appointed does scare me.

When information, beliefs or opinions are suppressed by someone else, (Government?) then freedom to think is also suppressed.

Loss of Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to think…

That does scare me.

You disagree?

That would scare me if you were not first allowed to think about it.

 

Supply and Demand

 

Supply and Demand

 

I am a shell collector.  Well, not really a collector, more like an appreciator.  When I was but a wee lad, my Grandfather occasionally would bring me a shell from Florida.  I saved them so I guess that makes me a collector.

Last year we spent a week on Sanibel Island Florida, a beautiful beach area known for its shelling*.  Mrs. C and I gathered several different varieties and took them home, so yes, I am a collector of a sort.

On the beaches of New Jersey, nice as they are you will seldom find more than a clam or scallop shell and only a few are unbroken.

Last week we stayed on a Caribbean Island.  On a shelf in the room we stayed in were several very nice pure white conch shells.  I wondered how these shells survived sticky handed tourists who were shell collectors.  I left them on the shelf, I do not have sticky hands.

After we unpacked we walked down to the beach.  As I reached the water there was before me a fully intact and rather large pure white conch shell.  I was shocked that such a shell could wash on shore and not be grabbed by one of the resorts many visitors.  People just walked by this lovely shell.

As I scanned up and down the beach I was amazed to see many such shells.  

Many years ago I graduated with a degree in economics.  This required learning graphs and micro/macro stuff, some complicated and confusing, but basically the only economic law you really need is the law of supply and demand.

A white conch shell washed up on the New Jersey Shore would never last very long.  It would be happily snatched by the first person to see it.  Not that everyone on the Jersey Shore is a collector, just that a shell like that would be incredibly rare. 

Demand not that high, but supply virtually non-existent, a Caribbean conch shell would not last long on a Jersey beach.

On that Caribbean Island the supply was large.  Clearly large enough to more than satisfy the demand of the few collectors visiting the island.  Thus some shells remained on the beach.

Currently the world is dealing with inflation.

Some politicians want to blame inflation on corporate greed.  That is a nice easy answer which is sure to gain votes from the electorate while it does nothing to tame inflation. 

Years ago a button “WIN” for “Whip Inflation Now” was used which also did nothing to tame inflation.

Inflation is simple.  Not enough stuff for people who want stuff.

The solution, not so simple, but it will never be found by deflecting on others, or empty words.  Eventually higher prices reduces demand, and greedy corporations find a way to increase supply and make even more money. 

Takes time, involves some pain.  

Instead of pointing fingers, government needs to adopt policies that will speed up the natural process.

Anyway, we took home one of the shells, and left a bunch for others.

*Sanibel was severely damaged from Hurricane Ian, hopefully it will recover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FLASHLIGHT TAG

 

FLASHLIGHT TAG

I stumbled across this old post from 2014, brought back memories from lots of folks back then.

A lot of my readers seem to like nostalgia posts.  Well, that is not exactly true, but the ones who do like them always leave fun comments on stuff from their childhood, and I enjoy reading those comments.  I was thinking back to stuff we did “In the day” and I recalled Flashlight Tag.

Flashlight Tag was not really tag; it was part tag and mostly hide-n-seek.  I think we only played it at around age 11 or 12, the year when parents gave us a little slack at night, and before girls started affecting strange emotions.

 

It was generally played with a fairly large group of kids, one with a flashlight, and six or eight hiding.  Everyone wore dark clothes, so hiding in the dark was pretty easy.  I think that is what made the game fun, hiding basically in the open and often only yards away from the flashlight seeker.

 

I think there was a home base involved, and counting and hiding.   If you were caught in the light and identified, you were it and the hiding started over again.   If you made it to home base you were safe, but I don’t remember if there was an “Alli-alli-in-free” save as in regular hide and seek..

(Also Olly Olly Oxen Free)* 

 

The funny thing about kids and games is years later when my own were around eleven or twelve I was asked if it was alright for them to play out after dark.   I asked what were they going to do outside at night and was told, “Flashlight Tag!”

 

Same name, same game, same rules.  I never told them of this game. I never mentioned rules or anything.  How was it still called the same thing.  It wasn’t called “Midnight Tag,” it wasn’t called “Night time hide-n-seek,” it wasn’t called “Dodge the Flashlight.”  It was still called “Flashlight Tag.” 

 

Was this game carried on from 12-year-old to 11-year-old, year after year for 30 years, or are 12-year-olds so similar that they naturally invent the same game and call it the same name?

 

Whatever, this game is probably not played today.  Apparently, it is not safe for 12-year-olds to be out at night, and electronic toys have probably made our old games obsolete.

 

Computers and modern electronics are really cool.

 

So was Flashlight Tag.  

 

*The origin of the phrase is unknown. The Dictionary of American Regional English says the phrase may be derived from all ye, all ye outs in free, all the outs in free, or possibly ”calling all the outs in free”; in other words, all who are out may come in without penalty.^[2] Others speculate the phrase may be a corruption of a hypothetical and ungrammatical German phrase alle, alle, auch sind frei (all, all, also are free).^[1]

Pronouns

 

Pronouns

As these days only about 17 people read this blog I am no longer afraid of delving into issues where opinions are frowned upon.   

Apparently, these days, people need to choose what pronoun they want to be used for their gender identity.  Pronouns used to be an easy thing.  If you were male your pronouns, were He/Him/His, female then it was She/Her/Hers. 

If you were gay it didn’t matter.  Gay man, still He/Him/His.  Lesbian, still She/Her/Hers.  Recently it seems some people who are male, identify as female and they want to be referred to with female pronouns, and some women choose male pronouns.

OK, confusing, but I can adjust.  If it makes a person happy, what do I care.

Then we have people who aren’t sure what gender they identify with.  These people do not want traditional pronouns.  Instead of He/Him/His or She/Her/Hers the preferred pronouns are They/Them/Theirs.

Why, I wonder is this so important to some people?

If I refer to someone with other then their preferred pronoun, how do they even know?  When do you refer to a person with a pronoun when that person is present?

If I am present, USE MY NAME.  Hello, I’m in the room, why are you using my pronoun?

What really is the ice water on my bad tooth, is the use of pronouns in the media.  Apparently news articles do not want to offend the .01 percent of the world that does not know what gender to identify as, so they choose the They/Them/Theirs as the default pronoun.

When I read, “A person stabbed a person when they accidently bumped into themselves.” I get confused.

What, was it one person, several persons…WHAT?  Then I realize it was the default pronoun being used.  Why? Did the stabber and stabbee request the gender confused pronouns, or was the reporter just afraid of offending anyone? If so, why wouldn’t the gender confused pronoun offend either the stabber or the stabbee if they were not gender confused?

Damn, now I am really confused.  Could we just use a non-plural pronoun to represent a single  gender confused person?  How about Himer/Sheim/Hershims.

It just seems to me that if you are a man or women who is unsure of what gender to identify as, your pronoun should not be your biggest concern.

However, since it apparently is so important, my preferred pronoun is “Youse Guys.” If I am present you can just use "Cranky."

JUDGEMENT DAY

 

JUDGEMENT DAY

Back from semi-reblogerment with nothing left to say after 11 years of Cranky nonsense, I have to comment on Yankee homerun champion Aaron Judge.

After sitting on a tie for the American League homerun record, Judge hit number 62 last night.

Some say it is the MLB record as previous players who hit 64,65,70 and 73 were all “juiced” with steroids.  I’m not going to get into that argument.  Seventy-three in a season is amazing if they were hit off a tee for crispy sake. 

Anyway, my comment is not really about Aaron, it is about radio announcer John Sterling.

Sterling has been doing Yankee games for over 30 years.  He is known by Yankee fans for his annoying home run call,

“It is high, it is far, it is gone!”

 Often especially annoying on the radio when the call goes,

“It is high, it is far, it is…CAUGHT at the warning track.”

Equally annoying is his penchant for his personalized calls,

“…it is GONE, BERNIE GOES BOOM” for Bernie Williams or

 “Russell has muscle!” (Russell Martin)
 “Robbie Cano, don’cha know?” (Robinson Cano)
 “Gardy goes yardy!” (Brett Gardner)
 “A thrilla, by Godzilla!” (Hideki Matsui)
 “Andruw Jones makes his bones!”

“A Judgian Blast” Aaron Judge

When a game is over and the Yankees win, John wraps it up with

“The Yankees win, THAAAAA YANKEEEEEEEES WIIIIIN!”

I have listened to many Yankee announcers over the years.  Mel Allen who was often half in the bag by the eight inning was great.  Phil Rizzuto, not particularly professional, but endearing in his own “everyone’s Grandfather kind of way”, and for over thirty years now the annoying John Sterling.

Except at some point, much like Howard Cosell of years gone by, you learn to love hating the guy, and after more years, that slowly turns to love.  He has announcing flaws, and after all these years those flaws are forgiven.

So when Aaron Judge hit his historic “Judgian Blast” I was most interested in Sterling’s call.

Keep in mind John is 84 years old.  I only hope to have his enthusiasm and youthful exuberance if I am still around in eight years.

And hear it is:  

https://twitter.com/WFAN660/status/1577461452729884673

I don’t know, somehow, you’ve gotta love the guy!

 

OY VE SURVEY

 

OY VE SURVEY

 

I seldom answer a phone call from someone I do not know.  We have a land line which will display a caller number or ID.  My cell only rings for numbers in my contact list, if it is important, I will see a message. 

Occasionally I will pick up on an unknown entity.  It gives me a chance to yell at a stranger.  I know it won’t stop these asshats from calling, but it sometimes just feels good.

Today the land line rang and I felt the need to yell at someone.

“Razzafrast.” (I never answer hello, I try to catch them off guard with a mumble.)

“Hi, this is your Congressman, Frank Malone.  Tomorrow I will be voting in favor of the Presidents bill to end inflation and climate change, boost the economy and ensure our Democracy will not be dismantled.  Please hold on to answer our constituents survey on this historic bill. “

I was not sure why he would be taking a survey on a bill that he has already said he is voting in favor of, but as he wanted my opinion, I hung on, even though I don’t know enough about the bill to give an educated opinion.

“Thank you for waiting:

Press one if you believe this bill will stop inflation.

Press two if you believe this bill will stop climate change.

Press three if you believe this bill will add jobs to the economy.

Press four if you believe this bill will save our democracy. *

Press five for something else.”

Well, that is a bull shit survey! 

I’m sure I will read somewhere that 40% of Mr. Malone’s constituents believe this bill will end inflation, 30% believe it will end climate change, 15% believe it will add jobs, 10% think it will save our democracy, and 5% are too stupid to have a real opinion.

I decided to cast my opinion by hanging up on this important, informative survey.

Later tonight, Mrs. C chastised me for not taking out the garbage last night.

“You should have taken the garbage out last night; it is beginning to stink up the garage!”

“Let me ask you a question:

Did I not take out the garbage last night because

Press one for My wife did not remind me.

Press two for I should have been reminded by my wife.

Press three for It is the wife’s job to nag her husband about the garbage.

Press four for no one reminded your husband about the garbage.

Press five for something else.”

 

She hung up on me!

 

*I will save the one asshat the lecture and interject here that we have a representative republic, not a democracy…I don’t know the difference either but someone always has to point this out to me.  And by the way, democracy was congressman Malone’s word, not mine.

 

NAME THAT BOAT

                                                           NAME THAT BOAT

                                                               

My daughter just informed me they named their new outboard fishing boat "Valkyrie," something about a Germanic chooser of the slain who guided the souls of deceased soldiers.  As her husband is a West Point grad who served several years for our country, it seems an appropriate name.  It did remind me of this post from 2011.

                                                           a very old Cranky re-run

I passed a car the other day that was towing a 28’ cabin cruiser named “You Only Live Once.”  What were they thinking?  I know it is a cute name and sure to get a few laughs along the waterway, but why not put in big lettering under the name I AM NOT A SAILOR!

Boat names should not be cute.  They should honor a loved one (preferably a lady) or perhaps tell something about the owner.  Growing up there were several boats in our family.  My Grandfather ran a business processing waste fabrics into polishing cloths and industrial wiping rags.  His boat was named “ETSAW” (WASTE backwards).  My uncle worked in the business; he owned a boat named “Rags”.  My brother, his wife and their three children all graduated from Duke University in North Carolina.  Their boat is the “Blue Devil.”

My parents named their small cruiser after my Mother’s favorite aunt, “Mable H.”  Dad had a small crabbing boat on the Eastern Shore Maryland named the “Crab Ali” after Alison his first granddaughter. He named an eight foot sailing dink “The Merry Bee”, after Mary Beth, his other granddaughter.

Cute names like “Momma’s Mink”, “Dad’s Cad” and so on are good for a quick laugh, but nautical they are not!

One thing to consider when naming a boat is how a distress call to the Coast Guard will sound:

“Coast guard station, coast guard station, MAY DAY, MAY DAY, this is motor vessel the “Momma’s Mink”.  We are without power and taking on water, May Day May Day!

“This is coast guard station calling motor vessel “Mr. Ming” over.

“Coast guard station that is “Momma’s Mink”.

“This is coast guard station, did you say “Momma’s Mink?  Over.”

“Roger coast guard station. Over.”

“This is coast guard station….What were you thinking? Over.”

“Coast guard station…It was my wife’s idea! Over.”

“This is coast guard station; we are on our way “Momma’s Mink” hope we get there before you sink!”

                                                          OR

"Coast guard station, this is sailing vessel “Hang On Sloopy.”  We are without power and are taking on water. Over.”

“Vessel ‘Hang On Sloopy’ this is coast guard station, are you a sloop? Over.”

“…..Yes, over.”

“This is coast guard station calling sloop ‘Hang on Sloopy’….er…. Hang on ‘Hang on Sloopy’ sloop just hang on….hang on hang on! ……Sorry Sloopy….I had to do it.”

Please people, think.  Do you really want to make a distress call with a boat named “You Only Live Once?”

MRS. CRANKY’s FALL

 

MRS. CRANKY’s FALL

This last week we were visiting my sister-in-law and her kids at a lovely house only a few yards off of Boothbay Harbor in Maine. 

While I was on the porch watching boats, ducks and eagles do their thing on the bay I heard a loud crash followed by several panicky  “Are you ok’s?” from inside.

Mrs. Cranky had been moving a chair from one room to another and she slipped on the small stepdown between rooms.  She was afraid to move, was experiencing nausea, and was on the verge of fainting. 

It was a pretty hard fall.

When we could finally get her up and seated, and the nausea and near fainting passed,  her ankle blew up like a tick in two places and was changing colors like a neon sign. 

It was not good. 

There was no way that she could walk on this swollen miscolored ankle.

I called the closest urgent medical care center.  Their protocol, since they had no ex-ray machine, was to not even see her if she could not put weight on her ankle.  

They said to call the emergency room.

I called the emergency room and they said to go to the urgent medical care center.  Told that we did that, they informed me they could not even suggest she come to the ER over the phone without a referral.

“Well, hypothetically if someone was carried in with a swollen discolored ankle, would you look at it?”

“I am not allowed to say, but hypothetically…probably.”

This was not an encouraging conversation, and as the pain was apparently a notch below excruciating, it was decided we could wait until the next day.

The ankle was iced and I purchased a pair of crutches and an ankle wrap at the local Walgreen’s.

Interestingly the sales person at Walgreen’s thought that the crutches might be on sale, so it took a bit of research while I was chomping at the bit to just get back to the injured Mrs. C.

“I’m kind of in a hurry, I don’t mind paying full price.”

“It will only take a minute sir, I don’t want you to miss out on a sale.”

Why any store would offer a sale on crutches is beyond me, but this was Maine, and you do not rush Mainiacs.

The crutches were not on sale.

Anyway, back at the house, the ankle was even more swollen and discolored, and Mrs. C had to use the facilities.

We wrapped her iced ankle and she was off on the crutches to take care of business.  She damn near fell on her butt once again.

“Don’t you know how to use crutches?”

“I’ve never had to.”

“You never messed with the crutches of some friend who needed them as a kid.”

“No.”

Mrs. C would move her good foot up to the level of the crutches and stop leaving her with no forward point of balance.

“Move the good foot forward past the crutches and then swing the crutches ahead always leaving  a three point stance, like a stool.”

“I can’t.”

For the rest of the day it was hop-teeter-hop to any destination with me behind to stop her from falling.  She did get better at it, but not much.

The next day the swelling was down a bit and there was no pain if the ankle was kept immobile.  We iced it all day and I was an on-call errand boy.

By dinner she could actually limp around without the crutches, which was a relief because her trying to move on the crutches was potentially as dangerous as trying to navigate that between-rooms step the day before.

We were back in New Jersey on the third day after the fall.

Mrs. C insisted on driving, (she claims I drive too slow) and she did not have any issues with the ankle.  The following day, our NJ urgent center does have an ex-ray machine, and we it was confirmed that nothing was broken.

Still limping, Mrs. C should be fine in a few days. 

Good thing, because she is not a good patient, and I am an even worse errand boy.