Scenes

As pretty a day as you'll ever see in December in the Southern Tier.

With a forecast high of 56, it doesn't feel much like the Christmas season. Well, technically Advent, but whatever. I think I'll put my scarred old lungs through their paces and run during lunch.

Yesterday was warmer still, but under slate skies. I walked down to the gym and did maybe my second circuit through the weight room in as many months. My boobs hurt this morning.

After my weightlifting ordeal, I walked home along Bridge Street and across the Chemung so I could visit Bottles and Corks and pick up a couple bottles of cabernet to replenish P's supply. I found myself in the checkout line behind a bubbly young woman who was filling a box with various bottles of spirits as her husband brought the car out front.

"Is there a military discount?" she asked.

"Not for liquor--only wine," answered the round, jolly woman behind the cash register. I've seen her there since we arrived in town, always seemingly happy with her lot in life, an unlicensed drug rep of sorts.

My ears perked up at the revelation of a military discount on wine. How many bottles had we purchased here over the last fourteen months, never knowing we were entitled to ten percent off their mostly inflated prices? I could have paid for that damned tractor with the savings.

When I arrived at the front of the line, I asked what she needed to see for me to receive my discount. "Do you need a DD-214?" She looked puzzled.

"I guess I could show you the scar where they put a plate in my neck after all those years of nine G bat turns." I started to reach for my collar, but she waved me off.

"No, that's okay. I'll just take your word for it."

And she did. Three dollars saved, and a new chapter in a beautiful friendship between her and me.

As I puffed up the hill across Canfield Park toward Tara, I saw our handyman Chris out raking leaves in the yard. He'd asked a while back if he could do that for us, observing that our yard was buried in tree detritus made worse by the windstorm the other day. Now here he was, a diminutive, thirty-ish fellow with smoker's hands and shy demeanor. I'm guessing he needed a little beer money.

"When do you all reckon you'll be back to work on that ceiling?" Chris had been at the house Monday removing the drooping sheet rock from the ceiling of one of the guest rooms when pretty much the whole thing fell down on his head. Underneath we saw the remains of the old lath and plaster system dating back to when the house was built.

That's Chris in the photo.

Understandably, Chris told me there were no plans to go back until his boss Steve came by to decide whether and how he could cut away the lath with a Saws-all to get a look above and see if the truss system was damaged. The joys of owning a 172-year-old house.

"Did you ever figure out why the ceiling was bowing?"

"Well, there wasn't any water damage. I figured there'd be some, and we'd find a leak, but no sir, there wasn't any at all."

"So, why do you figure it came down?" The mystery deepened.

"When I was picking up the sheet rock off the floor, I found a whole bunch of acorns. I think that's your problem." As if that answered my question.

"How did acorns cause the ceilings to collapse."

"I think you got yourself some squirrels. They crawled in through the soffits somewhere and made a nest in there. It got so heavy those old nails holding it in place pulled loose, and it started to sag."

I looked back blankly. "Squirrels. Squirrels caved in the ceiling."

"Yep, I'm pretty sure that's what happened."

I pondered the fact that the ceiling was already drooping when we bought the place, meaning the former owners had to hear the critters scurrying around up there but never bothered to do anything about it. And they lived here all the time. What other deferred maintenance surprises lay ahead? It hurts to think about.

Peg's work day stretched over twelve hours, and she did not come through the door until after seven. She was not in good spirits, and although patient privacy rules prevented her from sharing details I could surmise what's gone wrong at the hospital. With the arrival of Omicron here in this largely unvaccinated corner of the Excelsior State, the hospitals are bulging with very sick patients, many with Covid, and not enough staff or beds to handle the surge. In the old days Guthrie would transfer the gravely ill or horribly injured to a bigger facility down the road, but with no hospital beds available between Buffalo and the Hudson, all those folks are staying right here in Corning. And the dying and coding have started again, with regularity.

This horribly demoralizing situation Peg shares with everyone else in her profession has left her in an un-cheery state of mind. I took her to the Cellar thinking that feasting on the popcorn flavor of the week (Mexican street taco!) and lamb lollipops would improve morale, but it really didn't. She's just angry. I see that a lot on social media among medical types, who feel like this nightmare they're living at work was completely preventable if people had only taken this seriously and followed the advice of the experts--by that I mean infectious disease experts, not the talking heads on Fox News.

So here we are, experiencing a national deja vu that is something we read in the news or hear anecdotally from a friend. Down the hill at Guthrie, and at Sayre, and at Arnot, they're living the consequences of our national stupidity every day.

And that's bad news here at Tara. Maybe I'll put together more pictures of the new tractor to raise P's spirits when she gets home tonight.