No such thing as a free lunch

I hear Roku in the living room. Miss Big Savings over Cable TV worked hard for her streaming, avoiding that great resource, information from those who know. Every time I questioned her on a price, a reason, alternatives, she consulted her phone and asked google. She is terrified service providers will learn she doesn’t know something. I know children must get over this reluctance to get on with life; however, I won’t overlook lack of facts.

In the course of installing Roku, I cancelled TV service and limited streaming to no more than ten dollars a month, the price differential of TV versus Roku. That meant downgrading Roku to $7.99 basic, not the $10.99 service selected. I could go on, but I had Laura in information overload, and quit when I had to explain “there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Our second ice storm of the week is in progress. School was cancelled again today, the fourth time since the new year commenced. I have no problem with that; whether on city sidewalks or township berms, little kids need to walk home from their school bus stop, and it takes too much experience and chutzpah for them to navigate ice.

Earlier this week I had the much anticipated follow up appointment with the new neurologist. Together with his new MRI of my brain plus the record of all images from George Washington, which I signed a release for him to obtain, I expected him to second my opinion that I never had a seizure, probably never would, and could discontinue Keppra. I read the new MRI report, that basically said nothing evident except capillaries are getting old.

I left early. I could take the interstate, overshoot my target and backtrack a few miles, or take the valley road, always a pleasure. I’ve explained my valley roads, down the hill, over the river, up the hill. Except, these roads all are balanced on ridges, for want of real hill sides and interstate quality bridges when they were built, back in the day they were named for the farm on the property.

It was raining, temps were dropping. I expected slippery conditions and was prepared. At the bottom of Steels Corner Road, two cars were in collision heaps on each side of the T. On Akron Peninsula Road, four more cars were in separate collision heaps at Bath Road. Crossing the river at Bath, cars were off on the berm. I couldn’t tell why.

I started up Yellow Creek Road. Big trouble abounded, no turning back. This road’s ridge is in terrible trouble, little room remains for road as the ridge tumbles straight down to the creek. Cars off to every side, but courteously had their noses far enough into the ditches to have their backsides off the road.

Up, up the hill, until we closed in on the Yellow Creek/Revere intersection. The road uphill was closed; workers were throwing salt by hand on the intersection, and we were detoured up Revere road. The operative word is “up”; Revere is still uphill until the Market Street intersection. The little train kept chugging up. Everyone left ample room for the potential disaster. The car ahead of me nosedived into the ditch. We kept moving. A car well ahead lost traction and stopped.

The car behind took the left hand lane to pass it. The downhill traffic wisely stopped and the little train kept on climbing through the ice. I eased around, never changing pressure on the accelerator. The tires were turning, looking for purchase, but not sliding. They grew hotter and hotter; I didn’t flinch. The Land Rover ahead had cleared the top, the big truck behind was closer and closer, but not stupid. My little car kept on until….tires caught, slipped, caught, slipped, caught, caught, caught.

The new neurologist had not received the George Washington images. “I even called them myself. You cannot quit Keppra until I see them.” I got another signed release from him and took the freeway home.

I called GW to learn the protocol for obtaining the images. The options were to deliver the release in person or to mail it. In thirty days I will receive the images. I wonder if doctors have a secret handshake.

My back door, the morning I saw the new neurologist.

Rising from the ashes

We have a local author, David Giffels, who has published several national books, and remains local. We all know him, at least by sight. He teaches at Akron U and has one less degree than I have. I wouldn’t want his job, though we seem to have the same hard scrabble attitude. He scrounged all over Akron’s rust belt as his childhood activity, absorbing it and thinking about what it could be.

I’ve published pictures of BF Goodrich, transformed into important offices and medical suites, but with an atrium to the roof cut through the massive concrete floors, the halls featuring the massive concrete supports. We succeeded in remaking this town because we succeeded, the hard way, on purpose. Not me; I just moved back. Giffels has an attitude about that, though not bad. We’re acceptable.

Giffels has out a new book, Furnishing Eternity. I re-bought his old book (I gave my massive book collection to the local library two years ago), The Hard Way on Purpose, to put it back in my head. Perhaps I relate to Giffels because I’m doing much of my recovery work both the hard way, and on purpose. I can be really snotty with doctors and lawyers and adjusters when I tell them I cannot live long enough to re-learn what I lost, let along regain full use of a leg, an arm, a hand. “Think about that, you self-righteous SOB, and give me a righteous answer.”

This post is only about stuff. I’m up to Thursday on my calendar. It’s only eleven in the morning. Lynn and I were going to breakfast, but her cat is sick and she’s particular and the cat has a vet appointment. We go to Michael’s in the valley. Its owner is my age, single and looking for a datable person.

I don’t know why this is such an issue for me, except that Les died, and if I wanted to continue to share lunch and world views with someone who also put air in my car tires, I’d have to look around, or get lucky. I’ve not done the former because the latter just continues to appear. I’d have to call the average fifty percent. An overqualified former Goodyear engineer and I won’t describe the zero who fleshed out the percentage.

Giffels nailed it: “…they think we’re average. And we are…as average as a watershed. Some of us have more and some of us have less; some of us think this way, and some of us think that. If you add it all up and divide by two, you get something in the middle.”

Laura seems to read the blog on the way home from school. She knew about Roku’s when she came in the door last night. The Secret life of Grandma continues to blow away. Breakfast cancelled, I spent the morning on the phone with Spectrum, my ISP. Bored. So are those people in cubicles, solving problems. Often I get a knowledgeable young woman, always a pleasure. This morning I had Bob, from North Carolina. We pinged and tested and concluded the problem is Blogger; Spectrum is not dancing to non net neutrality—yet.

I switched to a person who could cancel my TV service.”You can save a lot of money over cable,” according to Miss Tenth Grader. I could save six dollars a month. The cable goes down, the internet goes up. Of course it does.

Last night I contemplated my empty day and decided I will finish the last half of the last sleeve I abandoned last year. Before I could never watch HGTV again. But now I can. Or maybe I’ll finish Seedtime on the Cumberland. I did quit the library book club; they’ll never read what I read. I still have HGTV. I do have to get up to the mail box and get that Roku. Now, that’s something to do.

Hooking up on Netflix

Laura has wanted Netflix for, oh, all of her life: All my friends have it. You could save a lot of money over cable. I’ll never ask you for anything else (I remember that ploy when her and Emily’s ears were double pierced!). You could see what you wanted (a great improvement over Hall Mark channel, I suppose, which is the only decent remnant in all the cable TV “upgrades.”)

I do not give a rat’s backside about the content of our television. I have not turned it on or watched since the day after the last presidential election. I have an unfinished sweater by my empty chair, proving I have not even watched HGTV in the intervening months.

But, Laura wants Netflix. I ask friends. “Oh, you just need a streaming device. Laura can do it.” I listen to rapturous recitations of this streaming device and watching Netflix on my phone, my tablet, my computer. “You need internet, too.” Check. “Laura can do it.”

Since Laura wants it and can do it, I put her in charge. “Find out how to get Netflix.  Ask your friends. Ask you siblings. Ask your cousin. Ask google.”

After a decent interval, I asked for a Netflix report. “I don’t understand what anyone is saying.”

After another interval, I did it my way. I called Netflix. I told Brie I was building from the ground up, information-wise. How did I obtain Netflix for my granddaughter? “Oh, she can do it….”

Just tell me.

You need to create an account. “As in a way to pay you?” Yes. Check.

You need a smart TV. “How do I know if I have a smart TV?” Does it have an HDMI input? “I see HDMI on the screen; I can look around and see if there is an HDMI plug in.”

Then you need a streaming device. This is the point at which I consider screaming whenever I engage in the Netflix conversation. “Yes, I’ve been told. What is a streaming device?”

Oh, a Roku, a Firestick, a Chrome….

“A thing! Where do I get a Roku, a Firestick?”

Best Buy, Target. Like that.

I thanked Brie. I hung up. I uttered my standby obscenity, which may show up in comments. I fired up Amazon and bought a Roku, for delivery today. I’m pretty good at setting up accounts, that sort of stuff.

A forgotten dispute

This post is to add some more opinion to John Grey’s review of the film Hostiles. More discussion will be interesting.

Date: Tue, 22 Apr 1997 20:07:32

From: C. Anthony Harding 

To: nativeweb
Subject: Seneca Tobacco and Fuel Tax Situation

This is a press release from the American Indian Movement in Cleveland, OH
Dated Monday April 21, 1997:

Cattaraugus Indian Reservation - On Sunday April 20, 1997 a group of 1,000 peaceful Seneca protesters shut down the New York Thruway. This protest turned into a violent confrontation after New York State Troopers attempted to forcefully remove the protesters with the use of pepper mace and batons.

The protest is for the violation of the Sovereign treaty rights of the Seneca Nation. Governor Pataki's tax policy is to force the Senecas to collect sales tax on gasoline and cigarettes sold on their reservation land. The state of New York has cordoned off the entire region and are arresting any native American Indian attempting to enter or leave the region. Several individuals attempting to walk out of the area to get to their place of employment have been arrested and subject to abuse at the hands of officials. At this time a temporary restraining order has been issued to allow heating oil only into the region. Failure of the Senecas to sign an agreement with the state of New York that violates their treaty rights have resulted in massive unemployment on the reservation and hardships for the small business owners. No news reports have been broadcast or printed due to the black out by the state officials. Thousands of motorists that have been diverted off the Thruway believe the cause to be road work. Road work it is, but it's not being conducted by the State Employees......

The above is twenty years old, and repressed. I only know because I was involved. I had the Seneca version explained to me by a Seneca, before a State Trooper threatened him with detention if he did not leave. I was on the Southern Tier, coming home from a show, and was diverted over the mountains by the protest.

I wrote of this adventure years ago, but my index is so trashed I can no longer find it. Perhaps someone recalls my recounting the adventure of the fires and explosions along the Southern Tier, as we drove past. The Seneca Nation was protesting the embargo of fuel oil by Governor Pataki all winter, in retribution for non collection by the Seneca Nation of United States sales taxes on cigarettes.

When it happened my brother-in-law got additional information for me from his truck driver network. My New York friends knew nothing of the problem and probably still do not.

I’m putting this out again as an addendum to John Grey’s review of the film, Hostiles and a response by a reader of natives not playing fair among themselves. I responded with what I remembered of the Pataki incident twenty years ago. Someone responded Pataki was a fair governor who did good things for the citizens.

Bringing me round full circle of a lifelong dislike of the government’s settlements with natives, and the general ignorance of the average citizen of the treatment of natives. As a nation we have a record of killing probably unequaled in history, of our native peoples.

http://sisis.nativeweb.org/seneca/rally.html The small clipping I located of the incident I saw.

Since I never can let well enough alone, this afternoon, at cards with the Methodists, I put a question to one of them, as follows: “Peter, as a man of color, answer a first question in few words. How has your race fared since ‘freedom’?”

“Worse than yours,” he replied.

“And,” I followed up, “how about native Americans?”

Long pause, and a harangue. “How do you compare genocide to slavery?” he asked. “At least you spared us women and children.”

I recited briefly my Seneca story. Peter, a native New Yorker, will reconsider his opinion of Governor Pataki. He remains firm on white privilege. 

Frigid, frozen news.

I believe the news is frozen, too. Good, bad, indifferent, little has changed. Brannon is sorry he slammed Jr. in The Book. Your mother always said, “If you don’t have something nice to say…” I’ve violated that myself, on the whole with no regret. A fellow in Stockholm scooped some stray trash from the ground; it exploded and killed him. That’s awful. Sydey is still hot; Merkel courts the Social Democrats to form a coalition.

Not much new from yesterday, except the runways are operational at JFK. Dunkin’ Donuts is still eliminating artificial food colors. Millennials are buying cryptocurrency. Don’t know about that. I’m probably too old. But, and this is new, ‘wi-fi’ connects human brains and explains why we have gut feelings. I have believed our brains are connected for as long as I can remember.

In college a group of us were going to supper. One of us was missing. Against advice (we had to appear for dinner at a certain time), I went back for her, pounded on her door and eventually went in. She was asleep under the dryer and already had blisters. I just had a feeling.

Today we went out to catch up on errands. It’s 26 F out there; we got around and around and around. Miss Laura, after a three month hiatus, sucked it up and began driving again, a couple of days ago. I do not question why. We started at the grocery store, and as she pulled up to the same red stanchion she put through the radiator last fall, she shuddered. “I thought it moved!” But, it hadn’t.

Here is a good deal of our day, in pictures.

On the way down the steps, Pig, Toad and Lambie are recovering from being buried in snow.

The driver has salt on her new winter coat. It's not even a wonderful new coat, it's now a friend.

In the store, salt everywhere. Even on the floor and on grocery carts. Love the boots and socks.

Puffy coats everywhere. The woman in grey is fascinating. Her clothes match her beautiful hair, and the lovely scarf accents her face. Don't overlook her cool boots.

All this observation happens when grandma waits for the grocery shopper to come through the line.

Then we took Sarah through the car wash. That all is winter grime sliding down.

She looks swell now. I owed it to her. I say, "I take care of you; you take care of me." But, it's been too cold since Christmas. Laura cleaned off six inches of snow and one of window ice just to get us home from Wisconsin.

And, we used Emma's advice to thaw the shed lock with a sock of microwaved rice.  To the cat's great dismay, Christmas is over for another year.

Now we need only to learn how to "hook up" Netflix. Everyone says "Oh, you can do it," but neither of us has received a gut feeling about the process.