Pre-Politics:CRIME STOPPERS EPISODE #8,939,247 or Life on the Other Side of the Drawbridge

TIMELY REPOST, and remembering how to conduct real political business among real common folk, who rarely hang the day in a coffee shop... and, as I take a breath to fight hypoxia, it is always good to remember Tante Louise.

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As it was a hazy, lazy day and we were in a hazy, lazy frame of mind, La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore organized a hay ride. Sometimes we have to blow this Joint, Manor that it is, and get out amongst the Common Folk.

So Fred gave up dredging the algae bloom that has beset The Moat. The bazillions of pigmented cells have decided to be red, of course, in honor of our politics. We can't, despite the well-worn furrow in our collective brow (Get it? What a rapier wit.), figure how we overnourished this vast body of water. It's not like we have fertilizer run off from "the fields" -- not us! No, we three believe in extending the fallowed nature of The Back Forty to the Entire Property. Honest to God! Hommage to Captain Haddock's Ancestral Holdings Upon Which We Squat! We've not been tossing the phosphorus around all willy-nilly. The Schmitzia hiscockiana, "small, red, and rare," must have an unusual generative source.

As I said, we pulled Fred from the waterworks, and I put aside the last-minute grading from Fall Semester 1992 (Discuss: Lucky and Pozzo, Gay or Gay?). The Feline Four got all doodied-up, which involved straw hats, berets, and breath mints. After much to-do, I was convinced to brush and puff Marmy's tail, curl Uncle Kitty Big Balls' whiskers on the left side of his face (inexplicably, they droop a good 2 inches below the whiskers on the right), trim Sammy's nails -- he suffers from terrible split ends -- and repeatedly reassure Dobby that he would not miss dinner or any substantive snacking.

You've seen nothing until you see The Castafiore decked out in her HayRide Outfit. Think, if you are able, of a sexed-up Little Orphan Annie, although I believe she might have been going for more of a decadent Shirley Temple. Think spandex, think Pepto-Bismol pink. Think ringlets, think peroxide blonde.

Resist the urge to gouge your eyes... it will pass.

We finally made it out to the beautiful, winding country roads in the environs.

We finished the afternoon in town because we needed to pick up a few items at the supermarché, those things that we get in bulk. Having a wagon handy is a rarity. Finally, we are stocked up on my 6.80388 kg containers of lowfat plain yogurt. I like to have at least four of those babies available for midnight-to-4 am snacks, as well as for yogurt emergencies.

Bianca got her bulk mineral make-up supplies:

Matte Mineral Foundation
Mineral Resurfacing Veil (Fred and I chipped in for a few extra vats)
Mineral Eye Shadows (mattes, satins, and pure pigments)
Mineral Blush and Bronzers
Glo Mineral Luminosity Face Powder (Fred and I snuck almost all of it *off* the wagon)
Natural Lip Gloss
Wholesale Kabuki Brushes (to promote that "natural" look she's famed for)

The 12 kegs of Matte Mineral Foundation, alone, tipped the wagon, so we made sure their weight was evenly distributed in a kind of Stone Henge arrangement.

We stopped for ice cream and "parked" in the shade of an elm on a nearby neighborhood road. We were, without doubt, an odd sight, a bit of chaotic rustica mucking up ordered suburbia.

Entertainment happened along within minutes. We would have killed for a video camera. A quick sketch artist, even.

A bedraggled man in his 50s, a fierce look of determination on his face, struggled by us, trying to push a HUGE widescreen television, attached to some kind of -- equally HUGE -- console, down the road. Once upon a time, it must have had tiny, tiny wheels on it.

He stopped in front of a large house, just down from the corner. It dawned on him -- you could see the lightbulb light up over his hatted head -- that he just could not push this thing all the way to wherever he was going. So he left it and went running down the street. He ducked in between two cottages and shortly thereafter he came back with a shopping cart.

Yes, he had the bright idea that he was going to put this HUGE TV/console inside this TINY shopping cart.

We were having hysterics but we also were dividing into camps -- Pro-Dood-Stealing-The-Big-Screen-TV-With-BigAss-Console versus the ever-predictable Anti-Theft Sermonizers. Sympathies shifted back and forth, with each HayRider adopting, however briefly, a fierce law-and-order stance at least once.

The Four Felines are notorious for preferring risky fun to straightlaced behavior. Go figure.

Anyway, it was like watching a cartoon character have a really bad idea -- the coyote ordering Acme products in the vain attempt to blow the roadrunner to smithereens. One cartoon balloon after another popped up over this Dear Dood's head.

By the way, it was over 95 degrees out there on the mean streets of suburban Tête de Hergé. This was one *dedicated* audio-visualphile, working without a net, working without a clue.

Finally, we regained our habitual sobriety and Fred whipped out his cellphone to call the Tête de Hergé version of 911. In Europe, the emergency phone number is often 112. Here, in our very unique area of Tête de Hergé, it often suffices to call up Tante Louise -- who is a story in and of herself.

We could see neighbors begin to peek out their windows , and a couple of people came out for an unobstructed view of the action, iced sweet-tea in hand, watching the man's progress.
This was what passed for free entertainment on that slow, hot day.

While Fred is chatting up Tante Louise, who on her end is directing all the CentDouze law enforcement, I gave a shriek. Our guy, former treasurer of his high school AV Club, manages to tip the mammoth TV over, after failing to get it safely lodged in the cart [surprise!].

He stands under his thought balloon, scratching his itchy head, while the cart slowly gathers steam and proceeds to roll down the hill. I could not calm myself and gave up trying -- hooting and hollering like the Hayride Hayseed that I am.

Apparently, by then, *everyone* in the neighborhood was watching and had called Tante Louise, who promptly put *everyone* on hold and poured herself a finger or two, so as to better survive the Crime Wave.

Back at the epicenter of the action, Our Guy sprints (about 400 meters, a straight shot out of the starting blocks) and recovers the recalcitrant cart. He drags it up the incline, back to its proper position next to the humongous television. {Il prend donc une petite pause} -- and we on the wagon break out the aftermeal mints and diaper wipes. Always bring a bin of diaper wipes on your hayrides. In these days of green, you might consider Seventh Generation's "only non-chlorine bleached cloth baby wipes."

After the short break in the action, during which Bedraggled Dood perched birdlike on the curb, a timely, helpful soul came slowly driving by (just the first of the rubberneckers) and decided to stop and assist AV-Man in the orderly theft of this TV and console. Together, they managed to *balance* the thing across the cart. The Good Samaritan got back in his truck -- in a confused sort of rush -- and drove away, shaking his head, making odd gestures in the air, talking to himself, apparently realizing -- too late -- that Our Guy was not all there and that he, a Good Samaritan, was now complicit as one-half of a crime wave.

He must have noticed the ronronnement of multiple conversations with Tante Louise, the cell phones everywhere, and concluded that exiting the scene before the cops' arrival was the better part of valor.

As previously noted, the street had a pretty serious incline going on.

We watched SumDood as he first began a fast-paced walk, then broke into an uneven trot, and finally was flat out running like a man chasing Usain Bolt. He managed to keep at least a pinky on the shopping cart, which, honoring the laws of momentum, gathered up its mass and velocity and sped downhill.

We were really sad when he finally flew out of sight.

The cops came pretty quickly and the last we heard, they were trying to match up the HUGE now-wrecked TV set with its heartbroken owners.

We turned the wagon around and began the trek back to Marlinspike Hall, not at all anxious to face the worries that doubtless were waiting for us: the red swarm of algae and the many holes left to chink in the medieval wing (and in some outbuildings -- the more ancient of the gazebos, for example).

Audio-Visual Man, wherever you are tonight, God bless.

© 2015 L. Ryan

Pray for Jessie Claire! Do What You Do So Well For Jessie Claire!

Oh, Dear Ones, I've been raising Cain.. cane...?  I've been making noise over the Duke Blue Devils, over my inability to stand up from this wicked hospital bed, to get to the persnickety bathroom, over our failure to make it on time to the doctors' blessed appointments, over our equal failures to get the felines to obey the feline rules of the feline household! Did I hear that they're pulling Blue Blue Bell Ice Cream?

Well, forget all our usual silly stuff.  This one night, let's even lay gently aside Grader Boob the Lumpy One, though we'll take turns, okay?  Code words: "Beloved Grump." Night?  Oh, however long,  All right, I CAN do that pray unceasingly thang, and cover Beloved Grump, always.  Just gimme a doggone minute.

There is a young girl who needs our prayers, our good thoughts, our best intentions, our most wonderful of wonderfuls, and if you carry such things with you as a matter of course, then give her your matter of course.If you know karma is what is, if you have been so blessed as to know what is, then go to it, my peaceful friend!

You're familiar, if you're familiar with this blog, with parental blogs guesting here who detail the serious health problems of their children in that marvelous format created for them, mostly to share news with family and friends, CaringBridge, you know it has spread as an interwebs' phenomenon, not always, in my opinion, in a healthy way, but mostly, for sure!  And behind the scenes, no doubt, CaringBridge is on the the ball.

Allow me to introduce Jessie Claire's mom's Robin. First a bee-yoo-tee-fuu-ool picture of Miss Jessie Claire, from the outside, showing an attitude that beats all: the love of another creature, freely given, gently offered.

And timely, too! Happy Easter (a little late)!

And here are some excerpts from Jessie's mom Robin who keeps an honest but upbeat, faithful to God, faithful to herself, faithful to her daughter -- faithful to so much I am often in awe.  If you take the time to read her journaling, through the years, you don't see much change in the faithfulness -- hence, the awe. But if you know the bravery in her honesty, in her writing the doctors' opinions, the many tests results.  I applaud her juxtapositions, done, I'm sure, with the help of many prayers, foot stomps -- whatever goes for a good Bianca Castafiore's aria in her home!*  (please see below, the very below)

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From CaringBridge's journal for Jessie Claire

MRA
By Robin Henson Jul 2, 2014 11:02am

MRA of Jessie Claire's brain showing Moyamoya Disease impacting  middle cerebral arteries. [Lisa's Edit: The x-ray is unedited, unchanged, as is it's interpretation. There is no way.]  Blood flow is white from contrast.  From the center and "branching" right is healthy blood flow.   From the center and "branching" left there is no blood flow. The cerebral artery is closed.

MRA of Jessie Claire's brain showing Moyamoya Disease impacting middle cerebral arteries. Blood flow is white from contrast. From the center and "branching" right is healthy blood flow. From the center and "branching" left there is no blood flow. The cerebral artery is closed.

Prayers Please
By Robin Henson — 23 hours ago

Before providing Jessie Claire's medical update, Jessie Claire wanted me to share this:    Last week Jessie Claire went to visit her Daddy at work.  She put on his "Deputy Director" badge and went into Senate Chambers at the State Capitol. Seeing the Senators vote on bills was educational, but that wasn't what made the day so special for her.  Jessie Claire was treated like a princess.  The Lt. Governor and several Senator's asked Jessie Claire if they could have their picture made with her, gave her gifts, and a quick tour of the chamber.  I was touched by all the people who said they have been praying for her.  Jessie Claire was quick to thank a few of these gentlemen for supporting childhood cancer and she bragged that she is a Rally Kid (Rally for Childhood Cancer).  

Recently, Jessie Claire has had lots of Easter fun starting with a Spring Fling at her old school, Brighton.  However, she has not felt great in days.  Every time we have been out of the house for 2 two 3 hours, Jessie Claire gets in the car, tells me to get her home because she is tired and does not feel good.  Friday morning, Jessie Claire's left leg was numb (classic TIA (mini stroke) symptom).  Something I forgot to mention last week is that I recently learned that Jessie Claire has been having TIA's (mini strokes) for quite some time.

Tomorrow morning, Jessie Claire is having an MRI for Brain Tumors.  The Boston doctor has added additional testing to check blood flow.  This test will help determine how quickly she needs the next brain surgery which will be done at Boston Children's Hospital.

Some people told me that thought the second surgery I mentioned last week was on the left side of the brain.  Although the left side has arteries narrowing, the urgency is with the right side of the brain.  For those who are new, Jessie Claire's right middle cerebral artery is completely closed.  In March of last year, Jessie Claire had brain surgery to try and create a new source of blood flow to the right side of the brain.  We were told the surgery was needed or she would have a stroke.  Now, a year later, we just learned that the surgery did not work.

So, please continue to pray that God continues to protect Jessie Claire and she does not have a stroke. Please pray for wisdom with the doctors.  Please pray that the the brain tumors are stable.  And please pray that next steps are determined and administered quickly.

Thanks for all of your prayers.  Please share Caringbridge with anyone you know who prays. (Confession from Editor Lisa: This was when I felt compelled to write this funky post.)

[Me again, moi, who swore to minimal interruptions to Robin's perfected texts. Here is a journal entry I missed in what seems between day before yesterday and today, and as Southerners tend to, well, shout out: "Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!"]

Preliminary Glance
By Robin Henson — Mar 20, 2015 6:15pm

First, Jessie Claire wants to say "I have a soar-soar throat (from breathing tube) but I'm feeling better and spending the afternoon with my Nana".  I am going to take a minute to brag.  Yesterday was a very long day with some delays, but as always, Jessie Claire handled it beautifully with lots of praises from the nurses.

Yesterday we were told something that we are still trying to process...   but first we are praising God that the "preliminary glance looks good" and there is more blood flow than last year.  I asked lots of questions including "Is there enough blood flow to prevent a stroke? Any additional narrowing of arteries?  Are there any signs that Jessie Claire has had TIA's (mini-strokes)?"  Understandably, he has to "comb through the pictures" before he can answer these questions.  This is all we know for now.

Yesterday one of the doctors told me that he does not think Jessie Claire has Moyamoya.  He gave a good argument on how he came to this conclusion.  He believes Jessie Claire has neuro vasculopothy.  I read a couple of abstracts from medical journals to try and learn what this even means but decided that was a bad idea.

Yesterday was the first time I have ever heard the term "neuro vasculopathy".  However, less than 24 hours earlier, I made arrangements for a pediatric neuro-vascular surgeon and two other doctor's on his team, to review all of Jessie Claire's scans.  This doctor is the Director of the world largest and best Pediatric Neurovascular and Moyamoya Clininc.  They are located at Boston's Children's Hospital.    
 
This has been a year full of fear, devestation, prayer, praises, miracles, and JOY!  As always when we are confused,scared and nothing makes sense, God has gone before us to direct the path best needed for Jessie Claire-- His Path!














*"Ah! Je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir!" -- Gounod, Faust


© 2015 L. Ryan

"C'est la fille d'un roi; Ce n'est plus toi..."

hello, fellow travelers, pilgrims, and any sister souls who believe going straight takes one due north.
the bianca castafiore in me greets the milanese nightingale in you.

take a moment, sing her aria, belt it out, we can never quite get enough of it, sacré bordel!

Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir, 

Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir,

Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi? 

Réponds-moi, réponds-moi,

Réponds, réponds, réponds vite! 

Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi!

Non...non, ce n'est plus ton visage; 

C'est la fille d'un roi;  

Ce n'est plus toi...

it's been a long stretch of mounting stupidity in a parabolic zone that seems to require my spinning nucleic presence to metabolize the exact quantity of stabilizing dumb [SD] necessary to preserve the nature of things. when reincarnated as a worm, i hope to play the warmer, mealier role of preserving the things of nature.

all of which is to bring you, from northside hearsepital's most rockin' and a-reelin' bed of music and magic -- 5C-507 -- this newly discovered, swiped from the archives [what to do at 3 am when even the swingingest nurses are dragging their high heels?] photo of saint dobby as he led his friend sammy, my greatest cat love through the last stages of life.  dobby is, and is told daily, that he is 90 % angel, 10% house elf, and with witchy math part rin tin tin, a very tough cat, and a sweet pea.  since buddy's arrival on scene, he has bouts of needing to be the resident Bad Boy, so long as he can drop out of the role after five minutes, tops.

anyway, here they are.  sammy never wanted to be alone in his dying, and never was.

sammy, of all the male anythings I have ever kissed, was the best kisser of them all.
not to overdo things on the originality front, but dobby is given frequent reminders that he's a very good boy.










© 2015 L. Ryan

Follow the Reader!

Tuesday, April 22, 2014, I gave you, "On Rectitude." This past month, you've searched it out, not for its scintillating images, or original fonts, but for its something-else-èd-ness.  To the point where "On Rectitude" climbed to first among non-CRPS Serious Schtuff.  I'm having problems typing or being in any way handy, so it's a pleasure to discover the odd things others like.  Or are laughing at.  Laughter is good, too. So we're following you, wincing as need be. Good exercise.

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I pity you, Dear Reader.  The richness of life's tapestry around me calls up this pity, this sadness for you and what must be, by comparison, a bland and monochromatic existence.

You poor thing.

When you look out your bedroom window, you aren't gifted with the best-crack-dealer-on-the-block's cheery wave.  You don't know that the color of the day is green.

Just yesterday, it was red.  Our dealer sported red trainers, baggy jean britches -- with the fabric crotch a mere two inches superior to his knobby knees -- patched with scarlet pockets, and topped off the ensemble with one very backward baseball cap, cardinal brimmed.  His t-shirt was high tech, some sort of wicking material, and sternly black, the better to make the red shine.

The kelly green for the day does not quite work.  It's neither editorial nor a suitable fashion irony.  Let us hope his dope makes up for his design deficit.  He was working the phone, as usual, when he looked up to give me the highest five.

Back to your pitiful state, Reader Darling.  You were not greeted at your waking by the Feline Triumvirate, working together as a tight, tight trio.  Buddy the Outrageously Large Maine Coon was in charge of attacking the door and all major vocalization.  It sounded like a freaking tornado spinning out in that gaudy gilt and velvet hall. Marmy of the Fluffy Butt paced behind the other two, whipping that marvelous tail with each about-face.  It was kind of nice to hear that staccato undercurrent of her gutteral *ack*::*ack*.  That leaves the rest of the feline phenomenon in Dobby the Runt's domain. He was toe-tapping, rat-a-tat-tatting, bringing some soul to the beat they had going on.

I had shut them, and Fred, too, out.

The Spaz chose Easter Sunday to begin an all out blitz of my ragged nerve endings and my CRPS-afflicted attachments were flailing about with all the abandon of their resurrected joy.  It was hell.  It was the purist of agonies.  I kept yelling "He is Risen" out the Computer Turret windows -- more lead than glass pane.

I've declared war on my tendency to curse.  Hence, screaming "He is Risen" and, for some reason, "Ichabod Crane." For a week or two, it was "Christ in a hand basket," until Fred informed moi that that was, sniff, common.

So, anyway.

Umm.

Right!  The Easter Spaz Attack and the Eviction of All Living Beings From the Bedroom.

Fred left of his own Free Will -- to continue tossing in Christian textual pearls.  I had hobbled to the bathroom, the best bathroom in our West Wing suite, the one with the Lotus Pool.
Umm.
Right!

I wanted a space in which I could scream at will -- nothing to do with "Free Will," this screaming. It was a holler that demanded its own Appalachian valley.

When I came out, a very crooked smile pasted on my blotchy face, Fred was gone.  Along with his triple-decker sandwich and his grape soda.  La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore is on tour with her troupe's most successful staging of Faust in decades, so I didn't have her or her entourage to throw out.

There was no one but Dobby.  Ever faithful, that little one.  He may be paid under the table, though, I don't really know.  I'd like to think he loves me enough that when everyone else flees, he runs toward me, the burning building, the swaying tower about to crash into waves of toxic cinder.

That may be overstating things a bit but it's my blog, not yours.

Much of yesterday's behavior was dictated by a visit to Dr. Go-To-Guy and Super Nurse Justine.  I did not even bother complaining of rabies, of CRPS sadism, and they attributed every bit of aberrant jerking to my aberrant personality, and the usual fever and chills.

Shake, rattle, and roll, My Babies, shake, rattle, and roll.

There is a sad tendency being played out in doctors' offices throughout the world, and when we all feel better, we need to stand up and change the damn channel.  I am referring, of course, to the prevalence of CNN on waiting room televisions.  Yesterday, I fought back by bringing my copy of Mother Jones to mix in with the Smithsonians and the well-fingered, tantalizing People magazines.

I underscored my CNN protest and my central nervous system maladies by an endless commentary on the purported "news." Things the receptionist may have heard:

"Yeah?  Well, I think you're oxymoronic."

"Yeah?  Well, why aren't you reporting on the dying baby Puffins on the Maine seacoast? The tragedy of baby bird fish food that is too large for their tiny beaklettes!" 

Most of my verbiage followed the "Yeah? Well..." formula.

So, Fred, Dobby, Marmy, Buddy, and I cruised around the Metro Tête de Hergé freeway pretzel while I hummed off key at high volume.  It about killed me to be in such pain, to be spasming to beat my cacophonous band, and not to be able to talk about it, admit it, show it.  Unless that off-key humming at high volume clued in my trapped audience somehow.  The dimwits.  

The sweet dimwits.

Sven Feingold was waiting by the moat when Ruby the Honda CR-V screeched to a halt just short of its pristine waters.  The sweet dimwits fairly peeled out of the car to interrogate him on his reasons for standing guard and to escape the putrid gaseous quality of Ruby's atmosphere.  Turns out Sven was just taking a break from some Maze work -- topiary saps his strength.  He knocked off for the day and joined us all for a fish dinner I had promised to cook.  We invited the best-crack-dealer-on-the-block but he was too busy organizing lookouts and runners, much in the way we used to get up a good softball game late in the breezy afternoons of my lost youth.

Well, that didn't happen. The dinner, I mean. People lined up to beg me NOT to cook, and to "go rest." I gave most of that crowd the "Yeah? Well..." treatment.  And I went to our suite to go rest.

My legs were dancing like a hopped-up whirligig.  There were four packages from Amazon dot com awaiting my penknife's slash.  I had ordered:  4 bottles of Valerian Root that were on a kickass sale and four canvas container thingies, designed for me to "organize" my CDs and sundries, an effort to make my office even cooler a place than it already was.  

Someone at Amazon dot com has gone batshit crazy about shipping.  I always request the option that offers the fewest shipments as possible, trying to curb my large carbon footprint.  I did not request "free 2-day Prime."  So why, barely 24 hours after placing the order, did I have four large boxes to unpack.  One box held one of the stackable canvas container thingies.  One box held another of the stackable canvas container thingies and three bottles of Valerian Root.  One box held two stackable canvas container thingies, stacked.  And the last box, unbelievably, contained one bottle of Valerian Root and what looked like an entire box of green puff pastries, those Earth-friendly biodegradable supersized bubble wraps, tied together like salamis.

So, anyway.

Umm.

Right!

I hope you begin to pity yourself, as you gauge your empty days against my full and abundantly purposed time.

Having made it to this morning, it was something of a hoot to be invaded by the domestic animal family and to appreciate its loving idiosyncrasies.  Little Dobby gave me a "don't try that again" warning look and then demanded a double grooming.  That means making the perfect jug of coffee and then letting it grow cold because his tiny white belly needs brushing and bubbles blown.  The coffee ends up seeming fine and Dobby stays on his back a good while, emitting pheromones of love and peace, and mixing biscuits upside down with precious tiny paws.

"Yeah, well, His is Risen, and you can just kiss my Ichabod Crane."

Don't forget, Dear Reader, I can hear every thought you can squelch out.

Buddy watched the Dobby Double Grooming Routine, hooting softly at the appearance of the second jug of coffee being set aside to cool.  Then Buddy got That Look. He's part engineer, part artist.  He's very Leonardo. I regret naming him "Buddy." The folks at the no-kill shelter had named him "Munster," as they had given the whole Maine Coon kitten clan discovered at a local horse farm (the tiny kittens sheltered under a Budweiser Clydesdale runaway, attuned to the plight of abandoned young...) the name of a cheese.  As we witnessed the destruction of which the young Maine Coon proved capable, "Munster" began to seem more appropriate than the mundane "Buddy," even though his heartening habit of sticking right with you, no matter what (except for CRPS spasms), engendered that name. He was "our buddy," and soon responded to the word, so we let it be.  

Now I think "Bubba" might be suitable.  He has that wild look, and an indecipherable eye twinkle.

So Buddy got That Look.  He's been perturbed by the hospital bed since its arrival in January.  Never mind the problems of three cats staking out three territories on a bed this small, because when you add me to the problem, my body becomes land to which a feline must lay claim, and my body bears the bruises and scars.  The comfort provided by the bed is often offset by the aches of the cat fights over its ownership.

Buddy is the most delusional of all.  He thinks it's all his, including the pale, jerking human form that takes up most of the actual mattress area.  He understands the controls and is the only one not to flee when the bed suddenly begins to move, or the trapeze slaps gently against a metal pole.  But he cannot conquer the affliction of the bed rails. He's grown since his arrival, as you've likely gleaned, my smarty-panted Reader! There are four entries to the bed that are essentially trails around the rails. Simply avoid the suckers.  Simple enough, you'd think.  It's good enough for Dobby, though he also likes to arrive via the wheelchair parked alongside the bed.  He enjoys leaping over the rails with the verticle assistance of the power chair.  If I am behaving within parameters, he will jump and land between my feet.  If I am misbehaving, violating some Dobby protocol (failing to groom being the most likely), he plants his pointy, pokey paws right on my legs and I scream at him while he trims his toenails.  But Buddy... 

Buddy wants to make his entrances to the hospital bed by coming between the rails.  It is a small space.  Granted, he's a cat, and cats can fit into the oddest places.  This feat, however, is not about fitting into anything -- usually a box -- but about passing through something without becoming stuck in it -- usually, again, a box.  You are likely familiar with the famous Maru.  Buddy is no Maru.

This morning, the gods of engineering and Buddy's personal artistic muse smiled upon him and he found the necessary alignments and twisty turns necessary to leap between the rails without need of rescue or first aid.

It was beautiful.  

And it's now something he wants to do again and again.

He's solved his problem;  I've acquired a new issue.  For the moment it is solved by a stopgap blockage of the passage with a quilt.

Marmy, for her part, is demanding that standards be upheld.  She has fussed at me in the manner of mothers the world over, a funny thing for such a heartless queen, she who left kittens scattered willy nilly about the floor as she stalked off, the bubble over her head proclaiming, "You want milk?  Suck this!"  I reminded her of how she quit in mid-delivery when Dobby was trying to be born.  I got a "Yeah, well, *your* mama..." as retort.

She did her job.

I remember protocol.

I know what I am supposed to do, and what I'm not.

I'm trying.

For Sven, I've sketched out a few topiary fixes.  He's putting in a whole English Boxwood section memorializing Alice's Trip Down the Rabbit Hole and the Mad Hatter is driving him crazy.

For Fred, I'm preparing the aforementioned fish dinner, with fresh vegetables and a careful hand with the herbs.  I'm also taking a boat load of Baclofen, so that the filet knife and I shall be an interesting pair.

I won't bore you with the complete list of my tasks, my jobs, the things that people deserve without the pressures of all that asking and answering nonsense.  

For Mother Earth, I've but admiration and intention.  See the beauty, big and small, usual and not so usual. See the ugly, and its needs, its wonders, too.  Pick up the yellow plastic newspaper wrapper stuck on the drainage pipe. Get mad about our radiated oceans.  Save a Puffin.

© 2015 L. Ryan

Retired Educator, Mocked Poetess

REPOST: Because. First published 11 April 2013.

I promised poetry but did not deliver.  You don't understand the trepidation of letting this tender, soft-hearted part of myself be open to ridicule, taunting, and satire!  How the Genetically Indentured Manor Staff thrills at responding to my meekest requests with muttered, "Yeah?  Why don't you go write a poem about it?" 

Even Fred can get nasty.  I showed him one of my best works and he said, "This is why you couldn't help weed the miniature Wimbledon courts?  This is what kept you from leading group therapy for the Crackhead Carnies holed up in the barn?  THIS is why you couldn't be bothered to cook for my Wednesday night dinner with the Militant Existentialist Lesbian Feminists?  And it doesn't even make sense!"

The Castafiore has been my only support.  "Ze poésie, cara mia, it is an art and for ze art, we give our all, we give tout! We give ze everything! Are you going to wear ze rouge pencil skirt and ze frilly white blouse of laces cut down to ze navel of you to ze très extraordinaire mass ce soir?  But then, it is ze soir when ze muse appears, no, so I, la Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore, can wear ze clothings before ze good Abbot Truffatore, n'est-ce pas?  We will pray for ze poésie, for ze breast titty of ze muse to land in your head..."

Abbot Truffatore and Bianca have been meeting for private prayer and, judging from his sweaty red face and mismatched buttons when he leaves, heavy monk boots in hand, some athletic catechism review.  Tonight, he is leading a special mass for the Saint Day of Gemma Galgani, on whom he's had a crush for the last thirty years, and Bianca has become a green-eyed and now red pencil skirted demon with a deep v-neck lacy frill top.  She may not break out in stigmata every Thursday, but everything else about my girl is so totally venerable and serene.

St. Gemma Galgani

I shall take a page from good Gemma Galgani's book and suffer the jealousies and pettiness thrown at me over my blessed poetry and suffer these "heartaches in reparation, remembering that Our Lord Himself had been misunderstood and ridiculed."

Ahem.  Cough.  My first selection is a cute little ditty, meant to liven up the day and inspire all with my usual inimitable hope and optimism.  Do not be alarmed if you are so moved as to be unable to speak after the first dozen readings or so.  This is a perfectly natural response to poetry of this caliber. Like good Saint Gemma Galgani, you may experience ecstacies and raptures, but be calm.  It passes.

Final Cut 

there is sand between my eye and lid
from crying over nothing, one more dead kid,
pain here, pain there, poor me, while she
becomes green algae.

my legs that just ought to go,
says the do-it-yourself amputation pro,
prod, poke, ponder: it provokes familiar argument,
the age old problem, that old saw.

both legs are off, okay and fine,
and then one arm, a kinder line,
but there's no one for the coup de grâce,
no one to take the last arm off.

-- by Retired Educator, Mocked Poetess

© 2015 L. Ryan

Cats Trump Writer's Block

NOTE: A just discovered gem buried in the Drafts folder, dated 8 August 2012, 10:27 AM, Tête de Hergé Super Standard Time.  The "gem" is not the writing, but the cat photography.  I think this blog has been entirely too grim of late, so a CAT POST is just the thing.  And since I don't feel much like posting today, or perhaps ever again, finding something that claims to have broken through "Writer's Block" is terrifically helpful to the me of today, 21 January 2015.  And it's a darned shame that Tante Louise's video cameo appearance didn't make it to the page -- but she is surely getting all things aligned in Heaven (which is, as Townes Van Zandt reminds us, "where you find it.").  And I do also miss the original Crack Whore Organic Pig Farmer Lady, taken down by the Fugitive Squad/Aunt Louise. An unfortunate, but historic, Community Event. Memories are slippery things!

Enjoy this serendipitous break from an Excessively Somber Period of Blogging!

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Dobby

So,  when I made the masterpiece of a video about flushing PICC lines, the astute observer will have noticed that I dropped the recording device into a sink full of nice, hot soapy water.  Cleanliness, godliness!

I don't have much money.  I'm poor, in fact.  Not entitlement poor, more like, receiving 60% of my 2000 salary with no adjustment for cost-of-living or any inflationary trickeroos poor -- and using that money to support a household, pay a caretaker, fork out over $15,000 on health care (with insurance, even the blessed PCIP), and all the usual -- maintaining the sexiness of Ruby the Honda CRV, and keeping her legal, paying the mortgage, and having every animal in our care up to date in shots and vet exams.  Hell, the year of Little Boy (Uncle Kitty Big Balls), because of Fred's deep love for him, we payed close to $5,000 trying to save the dear soul's life.  I have to say, though, that had the vet involved been a better vet. a more honest vet, we might have stopped torturing him several thousand dollars earlier.

Lest you scoff at my "I'm poor" by pointing your pointy finger at my list of financial accomplishments, I should add that I never eat out, haven't been to a movie theatre, much less La Scala, in over a decade, and some claim that "generic" is my middle name.

Also, I make my money grow by playing the market.

That's right.  The socialist owns GOOG [but the rest of her portfolio is so deep in risk that she ain't revealing anything more, lest your mere scoffery turn to disgust].

Anyway, this is my way of explaining that I bought a new video camera.  It was a deal, a steal, and a good choice according to Fred's Bible, Consumer Reports, Tête de Hergé edition.  There was much ado about how easy it is to use, though I admit there was not a specific warranty of ease of use when the photog has one good hand, and a fumbling one, at that.

So far it is defeating me.  I don't get the zillions of icons offered on the LED screen.  Just tap!  It's easy! Without proof that one of those symbols won't launch an ICBM, I cannot willy-nilly start choosing picto-signifiers.  I have a conscience.

But this morning, which came too early, I thought I would at least try to take some still photos.  And then show them, describe them, say things, any things, to help destroy the iron bars behind which I pretend this writer is penned, blocked.

So... like many of my kind, after I inject myself with a few drugs, take 7 pills, go pee,and climb into the wheelchair, my first act of the day is to make coffee.  As you ought to know, we harbor three cats in our wing of Marlinspike Hall -- Captain Haddock issued orders that they no longer are free-ranging throughout the Manor, what with the claw-sharpening activity in the Tapestry Alcoves and all:  Marmy Fluffy Butt, Dobby (her son, the runt), and Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten (no one told us he was a Maine Coon).
These three insert themselves boldly, and sometimes rudely, into the coffee-making plan by performing intricate death-defying patterns around the wheels of this power chair.  "Feed us, feed us, feed us," they chant.

At which point the absurdity begins.  I manage to get three bowls filled with fresh and tasty kibble and on the floor, in the required layout.  Marmy will only eat out of the red plastic bowl;  Dobby and Buddy prefer the metal bowls, but then purposefully set out to eat from each receptacle.  The two water bowls must frame the three food bowls like parentheses.  Change that and one of them will make the subtle point of their dissatisfaction by, for example, eating with one paw in one water bowl, and filling the other water bowl with half-chewed bits of kibble.

But, finally, coffee.

Oh, here is a picture of my new kettle.  I broke my café press a few weeks ago.  Might have been the same day I killed the video camera.  So I dug out one of our many Melitta drip cones and went back to that most honest form of coffee-making.  In the process, I noticed that my Paul Revere kettle was leaking.  As in, the solder was breaking down, the seams were separating.  So I went online to my new favorite pastime -- FAB -- the rule in force being "no purchases allowed, because you are poor, no matter how well GOOG is doing."

But they had this kettle, and it was cute, and it was on sale, and it is now on my stove (in our private kitchenette, as it is hardly appropriate for the more demanding heat requirements of, say, the Medieval Kitchens).

New red kettle from FAB

If confession is truly good for the soul:  I also bought some stationary.  I have a weakness for good stationary, and may be the last person on Earth to continue to send handwritten letters and cards, delivered to brick-and-mortar, or daub-and-wattle, or hand-chinked stone domiciles.

Okay, so... it's heavy, the kettle.  I have already poured boiling water onto my lap, neatly missing the Melitta cone, because I couldn't hold the lovely shiny red thing up high enough to pour the water in over something not made of my flesh, like the counter.  But I will figure it out.  This morning, I put my coffee-making stuff in the sink, reducing the height requirement of the kettle heft.  [You will either understand that last sentence or you won't.  I can't help you.]

The video camera, when plugged into the limping-along computer, has lovely edit functions for my visual artistry.  Unfortunately, the red of the kettle was lost in the necessity to tone down the severely dominating whiteness of the stove top's enamel, even the whitey glare of the pitcher and old cookie jar that hold my cooking utensils.

The red, the red, it is not right.

Okay, so the cats are fed.  The coffee is made and, if necessary, burn balm applied to my upper thighs.
I turn the wheelchair in the direction of early morning television news, the computer, and a bed into which I can dive when pain spikes.

Dobby always disappears about five minutes before I make my slow journey to the bedroom -- slow because I'll be damned if any more coffee is leaving the mug, unless headed for my caffeine-starved self.

The photo at the top of this post?  That's what I find waiting for me on the bed -- without fail, and thankfully so, for it makes me smile like no body's business.  Dobby, laid out, and ready for his requisite ten minutes of loving.

He wants, first, a fierce belly rub, then a sensual ear massage, easy on the right one.  He then finds the comb and brush dedicated to his use, and his use alone, and knocks them on the floor.  Why we have to go through this particular part of the ritual, I dunno, but I don't change things because he's cute when he tries to get tough.

The grooming begins in earnest, and lasts as long as my right arm can wield the brush and comb.

After ten minutes, usually, of attention, Dobby is faced with three options:

• He can play with Buddy, who has taken his place at the foot of the bed, and is vocalizing like a loon.
• He can curl up and take his first nap of the day.
• He can grab the comb, freshly cleaned of his fine gray hairs, growl, shake it, and run off with it looking like a 19th century train robber who scored gold.

Okay, back to my pitiable photography.  Marmy has sworn me off.  She doesn't come to cuddle any more, she runs, in fact, when I draw near.  Oh, she is conflicted, that is for sure.  She talks at me when we're together in the kitchenette, and lets me pat her head.  She relies on me to clean up her hairball offerings, which have become frequent, because she won't let me help her with her decidedly difficult grooming.  (She's a long-haired beauty.)

My crime?  She has a recurrent eye condition -- herpes, actually -- which requires "gooping" with medication.  She managed to go several years without a problem but a few months back, poor thing, it returned with a vengeance in her left eye.  Now... Fred is a loving pet caretaker but he lacks finesse when it comes to administering pet medications.  As in, he scares the crap out of them because he believes they must be captured for the process to have meaning.  My philosophy is more one of waiting for them to come to me, then faking them out, but following my evil up with a good nuggle, a nice treat, something to confuse their nascent desire to hate me.

Marmy, though, has that incredible ability to read a human's mind.  Before you make a move to pick up the eye ointment, before you even allow yourself to entertain the thought of eye ointment, she's on to you, and she is GONE.

So we had to go with the Fred Method.  For some reason (a phrase I'd love to be able to eliminate from my life, or at least reduce its aptitude), he'd trap her, then carry her to me, and I would get to apply the goop to her eye.  

Now, I don't know, but it is my strong suspicion, having gooped other cats with this same medication, that Marmy is a bit, you know, Castafiore-esque.  She yelps, she cries, she squirms, she gives you the Look Of Death.  Every one else shakes their tiny feline heads, maybe gives a brief glare, and then they're over it.

Marmy Fluffy Butt has yet to forgive me.

This is how I get to see her first thing in the morning.  Peering at me, half-hidden behind the doorway, wondering if I am gonna drop the cherry bomb of a new kettle in order to swoop over, grab her by her Fluffy Tail, and stick some acid-like substance in her eyeball.  It's been months now.  I've decided to ignore her, and that is beginning to work, as, again like The Castafiore, she cannot bear the lack of attention.

Marmy Fluffy Butt, giving me the Evil Eye, and badly in need of grooming

It's unfair not to remind you that Marmy has her reasons -- we took her in when she was heavy with kittens, to the point where her belly almost dragged the floor.  She's tiny -- barely 8 pounds, and she had five little ones inside her.  She was only 8 months old at the time, or so figured the vet.  We figure that she started as someone's pet, and then was abandoned, and had been on the streets for a good bit.  

It's unfair not to note that we "took her in" by following one of Fred's Grab Scenarios, using a yummy bowl of kibble as bait.  Marmy will not eat wet food, something we wish someone would explain to us.  She refuses real chicken, etc.  Anyway, we kidnapped the poor, freezing pregnant soul and so began life with Marmy.  She was essentially feral for almost two years.

In the first few months of her stay, Fred had to CARRY my sweet Sam-I-Am (now deceased) past her to the litter box or she would beat him up.  Sammy weighed about 14 pounds.  It was ridiculous.

We don't know, beyond rape, what she endured out on the street, but it wasn't good.  When she decided we were okay, it was wonderful.  She made up for lost love time.  She domesticated as no cat has domesticated before her.

So when she reverts to her fearful state, it hurts my heart.  She and Fred were never nuggle partners, and he doesn't groom unless brushes are actually thrown at him with loud verbal encouragements, so their relationship is still stable.  

I hope my next photo of my girl is a pose of her purring and stretched out on my belly, all sleek and smooth, with fun, and not fear, in her eyes.  And God forbid that her eyes ever need treatment again.

O Lordy, Lordy!  Good grief.  Moving right along.  Those of you who have followed Buddy's growth, here's how big he is now, and still growing.  The vet says he will continue to grow for another two years, one of those weird bits of Maine Coon trivia.

Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten

Note Marmy sneaking in behind him, and actually eating out of a metal bowl and not her beloved red plastic thang.  Buddy has become her pal, for which we're very thankful, as he's the only living organism in Marlinspike Hall who can successfully defend against the swift application of her claws, or achieve the speed of light.  The two of them love to vocalize, and they streak by in blurs that even make Dobby look perplexed.

Well, after I conquer the "photo" mode on this bleeping camera, I will give the video mode another try.  

Fred was sorely disappointed in me a couple of days ago, when the Crack Whore Organic Pig Farmer Lady who lives across our country lane was raided by the Tête de Hergé Lone Alp West Fugitive Squad -- you would have bust a gut at the sight of Tante Louise in SWAT gear.  She had managed to move about a yard by the time her team had rushed the Pig Farm Cottage, captured the ne'er-do-well, thrown her into the back seat of the Fugitive Catcher Car, an orange Vega, dodged a few angry free-ranging hogs, wrapped a few muddy acres in yellow cop crime scene tape, and jumped back into the Fugitive Squad station wagon.

I had the camera out but it was just the second time I'd ever had it strapped to my quivering, spazzing right hand.  So we ended up with a lovely montage of light glinting off the moat, close-ups of hog jowls, and lots of footage of Tante Louise stuck in the mire.

It would have gone viral on YouTube.

© 2015 L. Ryan

Here's a New Rule

I am in a proverbial Southeast USAmerican bona fide Snit.  But I would have to ask my relatives' everlovin' permission to explain the aforementioned Snit. Here's a clue:  Others are deciding of what I am capable -- physically and psychologically.  The alternative clue?  Karma.  The frequency of their declarations of love are proportional to their actual inner dialogues of hate.  This I have brought upon myself by spending twelve years complaining about the pain of CRPS, osteomyelitis, and the lint in my navel.  I confused my Brother Lumpy for a collegial confidant and ought not to have done so.  What I should have been is reticent and yet somehow not the "little sister." There are four freaking years between us, an apparent temporal chasm. So now, information I need about the well-being and needs of Brother Lumpy is being vetted, omitted, diluted so that our shared blood has become like weak water.  I have been denied the honor and the need to see my very ill, very beloved brother, who changed planes at the Tête de Hergé Universal Airport yesterday evening, and will possibly do it again tomorrow.  Could I have managed to rise above my pain, let Bianca Castafiore paint my face into a facsimile of cuteness, tied happy mylar balloons to my wheelchair, and been a boon to the dear boy? Yes, Dear Readers, I could and would.  I would do anything to get there, see him, touch him (lightly, carefully), and make him chortle. Anything.  But it was decided, in a passive and secret voice, that I should not even be told, and certainly not allowed.  

Here's a new rule: 

Even the dying must make an effort to be gracious.  

Everyone knows the adage that "rules were made to be broken." 

In this case, those of us who are spectators to the cruelty of cancer, 

for example, must respect their respective lumpy brothers in all things,

 if that is their conception of dignity, if that is their wont. 

I will become an adept at emitting undetectable telepathic signals of unconditional love and wishes for comfort. Will our Comcast wifi router out in the Computer Turret be of any help with that, I wonder?

He is from the work of a Southern writer
Where every man's a fighter
Where the strong survive
And the weak move north to rest

And he had lines of silver
And hands that delivered
Me down to the river
To drift away alone

And I will never understand
The heart of a lonely man
Why my own wheels are gonna carry me
Far from his gentle hands

And baby, I can't come home
Lord, I've been away now just too damn long
And I can't love wrong
No, I can't love wrong

Late night when the bars are empty
And my liquor's been plenty
And the fiction read
Rests heavy on my tongue

I miss the sound of his dreaming
I can't believe, I am leaving
All that I ever wanted
'Cause I can't love wrong

And I will never understand
The heart of a lonely man
Why my own wheels are gonna carry me
Far from his gentle hands

And baby, I can't come home
Lord, I've been away now just too damn long
And I can't love wrong
No, I can't love wrong

Well, baby, I can't come home
Lord, I've been away now just too damn long
And I can't love wrong
No, I can't love wrong

Oh honey, I can't love wrong
No, I can't love wrong
-- nanci griffith


© 2015 L. Ryan

Instructions to Fred as He Girds His Loins Before Contacting Comcast Customer Service

ADDENDUM:  for the latest in COMCAST shenanigans, see the next post from 9 january 2015 HERE.


As is sometimes the case, Dear Reader, you'll need to pay close squinty-eyed attention to the squirrelly language of this post.  I apologize, yet have found no way to share customer service stories without resort to reproduction of brain-bursting actual dialogues.  You will, perhaps, remember our efforts to restore refrigeration in the midst of a very hot series of days during a Manor Fest several years ago. That led to discovering the Queen of the Universe is actually a Supervisor at the local Tête de Hergé (West of the Lone Alp Region) Sears Customer Service Center.  Who knew?

But today, My Loves, we wish to share with you the derring-do of Comcast Customer Service.  Please note my careful avoidance of tired jokes, such as declaring "customer service" to be the height of oxymoronic phrasing.  I'm infinitely more respectful of Comcast than of Sears, for Comcast rules our internet access, even if only to the Computer Turret of Marlinspike Hall.  We pay for wifi -- in the form of the world's strongest router -- but due to the manifold construction intricacies of The Manor, are only able to access the signal in a far off, outer limit suite of medieval bedrooms, sky high in the Northwest Wing.

We also fork over money for television services, mostly for access to the Animal Planet channel, as the Feline Triumvirate is in lust for Jackson Galaxy on My Cat from Hell.  Sometimes we spot them taking notes in a steno pad, which can lead to disturbing experimentations. I confess to countering with Pit Bulls and Parolees and the goings-on at Villalobos Rescue Center.  Marmy and Buddy, Chief Instigators of All Manor Shenanigans, flee the television viewing area as soon as the first Pit Bull appears, but sweet Dobby (90% angel, 10% house elf) will try to purr and blink spasmodically at the dogs for a good quarter hour before the barking and muscular jaws defeat even his peacemaking dedication.  Yes, so... revenons à nos moutons...we pay for 140 channels or so, in order to have Animal Planet.

Today's post comes to you in the form of the email instructions I sent to Fred about this past weekend's chats with Rajat, Hazel, and Akanksha, three of Comcast's best agents.  Fred was so jealous, and my wretched hands so tired, that we decided to pass the consumer communication torch to Fred.  I may also have threatened to slit my wrists should I have to speak, in text or verbal format, with any Comcast personnel ever again.  The gleam in my beady eyes proved quite convincing, apparently.

So here are my instructions to the Good Fred, complete with accurate reproductions of the chat transcripts with Rajat, Hazel, and Akanksha, as well as the two "non-contracts" they came up with. Well, maybe there have been a few minor changes in account numbers and such, to protect Captain Haddock's personal information, though who would dare to "steal his identity" would be a tremendous thief, indeed!

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my sign on info: profderien@tête-de-hergé.net

PW = Roland_Barthes_Milk_Truck

acct # 3987103922

MY LAST 4 = 0703

their customer service phone # = 1-800-XFINITY

(1-800-934-6489)

you know what our terms are, per captain haddock's instructions and allotted budget allowance: we CANNOT pay more than $100/month, including fees, taxes, and standard sexual favors. internet is most important, so if you HAVE TO ax the obscene number of television channels we receive, go right ahead. i do enjoy having a DVR, unfortunately, though i could give a royal bowel movement about HD reception, as i cannot tell the difference between SD and HD. please make sure they understand, as dear, perspicacious RAJAT so clearly did on saturday night, that we are not REALLY adding a phone to the triple play package and therefore do not require any special equipment for our imaginary phone usage. by the way, i hope that you and abbot truffatore thoroughly enjoyed the communion wine taste-testing, which so unexpectedly required 36 hours of apt attention. isn't it a grand thing that i am not a resentful, grudge-guarding person?

please don't agree to a service call unless you are willing to pay for it. captain haddock frowns on excess submarine dockings in the moat, especially when it's covered with 18 inches of algae-encrusted ice.

should the opportunity arise, please tell whomever comcast assigns you that i will see them in court for charges of First Degree Malicious Mean Nasty Duplicitous Fraud, the penalty for which is being shot in the knees with rat-shot ammo -- "Rat-shot is generally used for shooting at snakes, rodents, and other small animals at very close range." [wikipedia, that reliable source] 

rajat, hazel and akanksha, the three who assisted and assassinated me, are darned lucky i am a death penalty abolitionist.

lastly, please don't reference me as a gullible idiot to score points with the specialist/agent/representative with whom you speak today.  i get enough of that from the genetically indentured manor staff, though they've learned to throw their voices -- and i get enough of that from you, bianca castafiore, sven, and cabana boy, as well. what? do you think i am deaf as well as dumb?

okay, here is all the transcribed comcast info.  godspeed and please check in every hour or so, in case we need to send a rescue party.

text of conversation from saturday night with RAJAT, includes CONFIRMATION # OF MY NON-"CONTRACT." i went by "Lisa," as that is my legal first name.  you are cleared to proceed as "Fred," that being your legal first name.

user LISA has entered room

analyst Rajat has entered room

Rajat: Hello LISA_, Thank you for contacting Comcast Live Chat Support. My name is Rajat. Please give me one moment to review your information.

Rajat: Hello! I hope your day is going well. Do read about the Comcast Customer Guarantee athttp://www.comcast.com/corporate/Customers/CustomerGuarantee.html

LISA_: My Issue: it is taking sometimes over 90 seconds for pages to load. my question is not how fast my service should be but how much SLOWER can it get?

Rajat: Hello Lisa.

Rajat: How are you today?

LISA_: fine, but very s l o w

Rajat: It is nice to see that you are fine.

Rajat: As I understand, you are having issue with your intenet connection?

LISA_: it just took over 4 minutes for a comcast page to load

LISA_: connection is fine, speed is ridiculous

Rajat: Lisa, I'm sorry to know that you are having issues with your Internet speed. I also rely on the Internet and would want to get the value of what I'm paying for. Rest assured that I will do everything within my means to address your concern today!

LISA_: my computer has no issues... thanks for addressing my concern,

Rajat: You are most welcome.

Rajat: Just to set your expectation, what I will do is to troubleshoot the problem with your internet connection and if it comes that we need to send a technician, I will schedule one of ours to troubleshoot the problem of your internet connection. I will ask you a few questions that will help me identify the cause of the issue. Does this sound okay to you?

LISA_: perhaps. could we start with what speed captain haddock's plan is supposed to provide?

Rajat: Lisa, I would like to inform you that as I have checked, you are using the Economy internet package in which you should get 3 mbps speed. As I have checked, you are paying $89/mo. Is that correct?

LISA_: i am paying 100 a month.

Rajat: Ohh I see.

LISA_: well, i guess this slow speed is reflective of the speed you promised.

Rajat: Lisa, I have found a wonderful deal which will give you the up grade your services in the same price you are paying now. The package name is Starter XF Triple Play; $99.99/mo.You will get 140+ Cable Channels and 50 mbps Internet Speed & Unlimited Nationwide Talk and Text.

Rajat: By up grading to this package, your internet speed will get double to 50 mbps in the same price which you are paying now.

Rajat: The best thing about this package is there is no agreement, you could make changes any time in the account and you would not be charged with any early termination fee!

LISA_: i cannot change our phone service provider, per the dictates of our employer, the world-reknowned captain haddock. he requires wormhole capacity and underwater clarity for his miniature submarine fleet.

Rajat: Lisa, I completely understand your concern. If you don't want to use the phone service then you can keep it on a hook and can continue to enjoy the up Graded internet speed and cable service in a same price.

Rajat: There is no need to attach the phone equipment.

LISA_: and in our experience with comcast -- 99.99 will become 120 somehow, very quickly!

Rajat: No, I can assure you that the price will not increase. It will be same.

LISA_: so we could actually only use 2 services and get the same price?

Rajat: Yes, that's absolutely correct!

LISA_: let's do it!

Rajat: Great!

Rajat: For account security & verification purpose, please provide the complete address where the services are installed.

LISA_: you are the first rep to ever explain that!

LISA_: 666 unplottable lane

LISA_: west-of-the-lone-alp, tête de hergé

Rajat: Thank you for providing that information.

Rajat: May I please know your Comcast account number or the last 4 digits of the SSN listed on the account for security & verification purpose?

LISA_: last 4 = 666&6

Rajat: Thank you for providing that information.

Rajat: Please allow me a minute.

Rajat: Thank you for patiently waiting.

LISA_: no problem

Rajat: Thank you for your order! To complete the process, please go to:http://www.comcast.com/eloa/English/tpv_e911_agreementEnter your Account Number, the Order Date, your Zip Code, and the Security Code and click Next to confirm your acceptance and complete your order. Please provide me the transaction Id starting from 3.

LISA_: 33017312413319

Rajat: Awesome!

Rajat: Thank you for providing that information.

Rajat: Good news! I can see here that you can install the services yourself by taking advantage of our Self Installation kits. This gives you the freedom to setup your services at your most convenient time without having to wait for our technicians to do the installation for you. The best part is I can ship it directly to your haddock family manor for a nominal shipping fee. Regular Shipping charge are $30.00 however as you are a genuine customer so that I am able to reduce it to $09.95(one time charge) for you. Charges would be added in your next month bill. It will only be a one time charge.

LISA_: OK

Rajat: Great!

LISA_: so i will need to swap out the router?

Rajat: Lisa, I am happy to inform you that I have successfully processed the order for you. Here is you order confirmation number is 102105866690207

Rajat: Yes, I will send you the self installation including the required equipments with the step by step instructions so that you will be easile able to install the kit. I will send you the up graded modem so that you can experience good speed and better connectivity.

THIS IS A COPY OF "AGREEMENT" SENT THE NEXT DAY BY COMCAST:

The changes that you requested will be made. Here's what you need to know.

We'll see you soon

Questions? How to prepare for install | Reschedule your installation For Self-Install Kit Orders, an additional email will be sent when your equipment has shipped.

Here's a quick summary of your order Name: Lisa Retired Educator, on behalf of Captain Haddock Xfinity Bundled Services Starter XF $149.95 Promotional Rate 1 Months $-50.95 Xfinity TV HD/DVR Converter $8.00 HD Technology Fee $0.00 Service Discount 1 Months Xfinity Internet Blast $0.00 Xfinity Voice TN Package $0.00 Phone Modem $9.00 Partial Monthly Charges and Credits  01/06-02/02 Starter XF $135.41  01/06-02/02 Promotional Rate 1 Months $-45.96  01/06-02/02 Digital Starter $-40.63  01/06-01/05 Term Agreement APPLIES $0.00  01/06-02/02 Blast $0.00  01/06-02/02 Modem Lease $-8.12  01/06-02/02 Economy Plus $-27.05  01/06-02/02 TN Package $0.00  01/06-02/02 Phone Modem $8.12 One-Time Installation Charges Standard Shipping $9.95 Self Install Kit $0.00 Promotional Rate Self Install Kit $0.00 Promotional Rate Other Charges & Credits Monthly Package, Service and Equipment Fees $137.77 One-Time Installation Charges $9.95 Taxes, Surcharges and Fees $13.37 Estimated Total $161.09

fred, at that point, i paid the bill early online for $99.55, the captain's approved and budgeted current rate, before it could be changed -- and cancelled their access to automatic payment. 

A COPY OF HAZEL AND AKANKSHA'S CHAT FROM YESTERDAY, FOLLOWED BY THE NEW "CONTRACT," TO WHICH I AT NO TIME AGREED. NOTE THE LACK OF A CONFIRMATION NUMBER. 

YOU STRESSED TO ME, UNDER THE SANCTIFIED INFLUENCE OF COMMUNION WINE AND CISTERCIANS MALT LIQUOR, THAT "THEY ALL LIE," AND THAT I AM A GULLIBLE "MARK," BUT PLEASE DON'T REMIND ME OF THAT AGAIN.  EVER. NEVER, EVER AGAIN. 

SERIOUSLY, FRED. NOT EVEN USING YOUR INIMITABLE POWERS OF VENTRILOQUISM. JUST DON'T.

Transcript

LISA_: My Issue: YESTERDAY, was told monthly bill wld remain $100 with switch to new service. TODAY am told the deal is a 1-month promotional rate. which is the truth?

user LISA has entered room

analyst Hazel has entered room

Hazel: Hello LISA_, Thank you for contacting Comcast Live Chat Support. My name is Hazel. Please give me one moment to review your information.

Hazel: Happy Holidays! Glad to have you on chat today.

LISA_: text from previous chat, just last evening: 

"LISA_: and in my experience with comcast -- 99.99 will become 120 somehow, very quickly! 

Rajat: No, I can assure you that the price will not increase. It will be same."

Hazel: Hi Lisa.

LISA_: hello

Hazel: I understand that you would like to confirm on the new plan upgrade you had on how much your monthly fee for it be.

Hazel: I am here to make sure we have your bill charges clarified Lisa.

Hazel: I know how important it is to always have a clear understanding of each item on your bill and make sure you are billed correctly. We know that this can really be a challenge at times, I'll be more than glad to check the information for you to get each it

Hazel: Let me pull up your account first.

Hazel: I can see here you have already logged in via our Comcast website which means there will be no need for us to proceed to a verification process, thank you for that! I am now checking on your account and bills. One moment please.

Hazel: While waiting for the system to generate your account details, let me share with you Comcast Alerts. You can now stay up-to-date on your account with email bill notifications and text commands. You can register your mobile number through this link:http://www.comcast.com/alerts/

Hazel: Lisa, as I was checking on the new plan upgrade you had you were given of the Starter Triple Play bundle at $99/month rate.

LISA_: is that rate for one month only?

Hazel: Your new monthly will only be $99+$8 modem rent fee = $107/month before taxes.

Hazel: This will be for 24 months fixed rate Lisa.

LISA_: what about what i was told YESTERDAY? 

"LISA_: and in my experience with comcast -- 99.99 will become 120 somehow, very quickly! 

Rajat: No, I can assure you that the price will not increase. It will be same."

Hazel: I guarantee you that what was promised will be at a fixed rate Lisa.

Hazel: The plan is at $99/month for 24 months.

LISA_: i was told 99 TOTAL "i can assure you the price will not increase"!??

Hazel: This package has a 2 years agreement to make sure that your price will be locked in.

LISA_: quote: "Rajat: The best thing about this package is there is no agreement, you could make changes any time in the account and you would not be charged with any early termination fee!"

Hazel: Oh my, hold on let me check and verify it.

Hazel: I am sorry to hear about that Lisa.

LISA_: sorry? to hear what? which is TRUE TODAY?

Hazel: As I was checking on the pending work order, the plan that was processed was at $99/month with 2 years contract.

LISA_: this is why we are frustrated over and over with comcast. agents say what is convenient at the time and reality proves different, there is NO accountability

Hazel: To verify you had not agreed to the plan with contract?

LISA_: well, reprocess it as it was OFFERED to me! can that be done?

LISA_: you read what rajat told me

Hazel: Hold on let me chek on what I can do.

Hazel: I am truly sorry for the hassle you had been through.

Hazel: Thank you for patiently waiting.

Hazel: Lisa, for us to have the plan offered to you repackage, I will be connecting you to our partners in the Sales Department who can best have the current plan reprocessed.

Hazel: The information you provided me will also be forwarded to them for reference. Sales team will still need to check your eligibility. They can also recommend other options for you. Are there any other issues with your services regarding billing problems that I can address before I transfer this chat?

LISA_: no.

Hazel: You will see a message that says I have “left the room”; however, you will still be connected to the next available Sales agent. Please stay online and connected to the chat for the next agent who will assist you as soon as possible.

Hazel: Please stay online and an analyst will take care of your concern. Thank you.

Hazel: I will connect you now.

Hazel: Please wait, while the problem is escalated to another analyst

user LISA has entered room

analyst Akanksha has entered room

LISA_: My Issue: YESTERDAY, was told monthly bill wld remain $100 with switch to new service. TODAY am told the deal is a 1-month promotional rate. which is the truth?

Waiting for response from Hazel

Akanksha: You have reached in Transition Department and we appreciate you are giving us a chance to resolve your concern today. I hope you are doing great today!

analyst Hazel has left room

LISA_: i would like to reconcile the promises made by agent rajat last night for our new service and the surprising new reality i found today...

Akanksha: I will certainly help you with that.

Akanksha: Please allow me a moment while I go through your conversation with the previous representative. That won’t be too long.

Akanksha: Thank you for patiently waiting.

Akanksha: Based on your conversation with the previous representative I understood that you are looking to get correct package however you got package with agreement

LISA_: i want the "package" as represented in writing by rajat last night -- i would not have agreed to it but for his representation.

Akanksha: Please allow me a minute or two to pull up your account details

LISA_: sure

Akanksha: Thank you.

LISA_: "Rajat: Lisa, I have found a wonderful deal which will give you the up grade your services in the same price you are paying now. The package name is Starter XF Triple Play; $99.99/mo.You will get 140+ Cable Channels and 50 mbps Internet Speed & Unlimited Nationwide Talk and Text. Rajat: By up grading to this package, your internet speed will get double to 50 mbps in the same price which you are paying now. Rajat: The best thing about this package is there is no agreement, you could make changes any time in the account and you would not be charged with any early termination fee! LISA_: and in my experience with comcast -- 99.99 will become 120 somehow, very quickly! Rajat: No, I can assure you that the price will not increase. It will be same."

Akanksha: Lisa,I apologies I have checked and can see that the package Starter triple play is added at $99.99 with contract

Akanksha: Lisa, You need not to worry Could you please confirm do you want to continue the same?

LISA_: i don't understand your question.

Akanksha: I want to know that do you want to cancel package?

Akanksha: Also i have checked and can see that we have same deal Starter triple play without contract at $89.9 with 50 mbps of speed

LISA_: i want what was promised -- a monthly bill no higher than $100, no required agreement, with the services offered

LISA_: without contract -- does that mean comcast can cancel the "deal" at any time? or is it up to Captain Haddock when to cancel?

Akanksha: Yes, It is upto the Honorable Captain when ever you want to cancel you can cancel it

LISA_: what are the specific services -- the same as what rajat represented?

LISA_: sorry -- i've been burned now too many times

LISA_: i know you are trying to help!

Akanksha: Lisa, Let me check the details I will give you complete detaisl

Akanksha: While I am looking up your account may I place you on a quick hold for 2 to 5 minutes.

LISA_: yes

Akanksha: Thank you for patiently waiting.

Akanksha: Lisa, I have great news for you

Akanksha: We have Starter triple play with 140+channels with BLast speed and unlimited calling at $89.99/mo for 12 months after 12 months it would be $124.99 and after 24 months it would be $149.99

LISA_: that's not great news.

LISA_: i am stuck with the current contract, then?

Akanksha: No you are not I am here and cancel the contract for you

Akanksha: Lisa, Let me inform you that Codes are still not active in your account

LISA_: i don't want what you offered... it's worse than the contract rajat conned me into!

LISA_: i will stick with that bad faith offer. but i won't pay over 100,

LISA_: i can't stand this deceit any longer.

LISA_: did i tell you to do that? what happened to "Also i have checked and can see that we have same deal Starter triple play without contract at $89.9 with 50 mbps of speed"

Akanksha: Lisa, This is the same deal I am giving you the detail of the package

LISA_: no, that is a lie. return to the rotten package from rajat. and you all need to stop lying and misleading customers.

Akanksha: Lisa, Ehy would I give you misinformation when I know my chat can be auditted any time and it would be against my job, Lisa

LISA_: "without contract"

LISA_: return me to the original 107 + tax which i am sure will become higher, despite written evidence to the contrary. i am signing off. i will pay 100 a month.

THIS IS A COPY OF THE NEW "AGREEMENT" JUST SENT BY COMCAST:

Help & Support  |  My Account

The changes that you requested will be made. Here's what you need to know.

We'll see you soon

Questions? How to prepare for install | Reschedule your installation For Self-Install Kit Orders, an additional email will be sent when your equipment has shipped.

Here's a quick summary of your order Name: Lisa RETIRED EDUCATOR Xfinity Bundled Services Starter XF $149.95 Promotional Rate 12 Months $-60.95 Xfinity TV HD/DVR Converter $8.00 HD Technology Fee $0.00 Service Discount 1 Months Xfinity Internet Blast $0.00 Xfinity Voice TN Package $0.00 Phone Modem $9.00 Partial Monthly Charges and Credits  01/08-02/02 Starter XF $125.73  01/08-02/02 Promotional Rate 12 Months $-51.06  01/08-02/02 Digital Starter $-18.88  01/08-02/02 Digital Starter $0.00  01/08-02/02 Digital Converter $-2.09  01/08-02/02 Limited Basic $-26.79  01/08-02/02 Blast $0.00  01/08-02/02 Modem Lease $-7.54  01/08-02/02 Economy Plus $-25.11  01/08-02/02 TN Package $0.00  01/08-02/02 Phone Modem $7.54 One-Time Installation Charges Standard Shipping $9.95 Self Install Kit $0.00 Promotional Rate Other Charges & Credits Monthly Package, Service and Equipment Fees $107.80 One-Time Installation Charges $9.95 Taxes, Surcharges and Fees $11.92 Estimated Total $129.67

Godspeed, Dear Fred. Godspeed.

© 2015 L. Ryan