Rant #3,584: Crazy

Here I am

It is just after 4 a.m. in the morning, and rather than being in my nice, cozy bed, I am sitting in a chair in front of my local record store.

Why, you may ask.

Today is Black Friday Record Store Day--

And yes, i am certifiably nuts.

i admit it!

More importantly, i am cold and lonely, because i am first in the line of--

ONE.

Record Store Day simply ain't what it used to be.

In the old days--like one or two years ago--getting here at 4 a.m. would have placed me fourth or fifth in line.

Today, at this hour, I am.in a line of one, and I do hope that by 5.a.m., people get here, because a line of one is such a lonely line--

Especially in the cold.

As you know, I wasn't going to post a Rant today, but I figured that writing something to you guys and gals would prevent me from feeling so lonely, so that is why you got an entry today.

The question I have to ask myself is this:

"Will the treasures I will eventually find inside the store be worth the wait?"

The answer is this:

"No, but at least my money will go to my local record store--rather than a big-box retailer--and the way they do it here, part of the money the store gets today goes to animal-related charities."

So you can't beat that.

But that being said, I am cold and lonely right now.

So have a great Black Friday, have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday ...

If I defrost by that time ... .

Rant #3,583: Birds of a Feather

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and as you know, I am looking forward to this year's celebration as much as any in recent memory.

I can actually participate this year, not be the bump on the couch ... err ... log that I was last year.

Socializing is going to be paramount, and all bets are off with me staying on my diet on the holiday--

I will do the best that I can, but I just know that I will fall off the health wagon a little bit on that special day--

A day that I will start out like every other Thanksgiving morning of my life--watching "March of the Wooden Soldiers" on TV like I do every year.

It is just a great family movie, and you can't beat Laurel and Hardy, who truly shine in this classic.

After doing the podcast the other day, it got me to thinking about another theme--

The top five Thanksgiving songs over the past 60 years or so.

None of them really have to do with Thanksgiving per se, but they all allude to the holiday via a mention of the "bird" or the word "turkey," so they qualify, at least as far as I am concerned.

And one song in particular has been so associated with Thanksgiving that as far as I am concerned, it is a Thanksgiving song.

So here are my favorite Thanksgiving-themed songs, even though they might not have to do with Thanksgiving directly.

In no particular order:

Raiders: "The Turkey" 

Raiders: "Birds of a Feather"

Trashmen: "Surfin' Bird"

John Lennon: "Cold Turkey"

Arlo Guthrie: "Alice's Restaurant Massacree"

Funny that the Raiders--better known as Paul Revere and the Raiders--would have two songs on the list.

This all-American band had plenty of hits in the 1960s and 1970s, and while the first song is a funny "b" side, the other tune, written by Joe South, was a very mild hit. 

And I always liked the Raiders' version best.

Whst's more, "The Turkey" was the "b" side to "Birds of a Feather"!

Go figure that! A ready-made Thanksgiving classic, all on one record!

What more can I say about this frenetic Trashmen's song, other than--

"The bird is the word!"

And then we have Arlo Guthrie's 18-minute classic, and again, all I can say is--

"You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant ... but NOT Alice!"

And the last song has absolutely nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but if you are addicted to turkey ... no, I don't think John Lennon quite had that in mind when he wrote--and personally experienced--this situation.

So with that being said, have a great Thanksgiving, and I will speak to you again on Monday, so have a great Black Friday and holiday weekend too!

Rant #3,582: Rock 'n Roll Never Forgets

I did the podcast yesterday. It was a lot of fun.

SPOILER ALERT!

I don't want to spoil if for you if you plan to see it when it comes out in a few weeks, but here are the five 45s I chose to discuss.

Beatles:"I Want To Hold Your Hand"/"I Saw Her Standing There" (1964)

Monkees: "A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You"/"The Girl I Knew Somewhere" (1967)

Royal Guardsmen: "Snoopy's Christmas"/"It Kinda Looks Like Christmas" (1967)

Dave Clark Five: "You Got What It Takes"/"Doctor Rhythm" (1967)

Napoleon XIV: "They're Coming To Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!"/aaaH-aH ,yawA eM ekaT oT gnimoC er'yehT" (1966)

You will have to tune into the podcast to hear the stories I told about each of the records.

But yes, I threw in stuff about my old community, Rochdale Village, as promised.

I will let you know when it is available for everyone to see.

I just love talking about my record collection, and this podcast was pretty much made to order for me.

I hope the enjoyment I have gotten from my collection during the past several decades comes out during the interview.

As we head into Thanksgiving, how about giving a "gander" at the next chapter of my novel.

Please let me know what you think.

8

When Abraham Lincoln Panim was enrolled in nursery school, he had a very tough time being with the other children, who often taunted him about the way he looked.

One little boy called him “Eddie Munster,” and the name stuck with the young boy, so much so that most of the children in school knew him by the name “Eddie Munster” more than they knew him as “Abraham Lincoln Panim.”

One day, when he was in nursery school, and with his mom back at work, Mrs. Panim received a phone call from Mrs. Stottle. She excused herself from her class for a moment to take the call.

“Mrs. Panim, I have to get your son from nursery school,” Mrs. Stottle told Mrs. Panim. “Something … happened there … I don’t know much about it, other than he is OK … .”

Mrs. Panim face showed concern, “What happened?” she asked Mrs. Stottle. “What happened?”

“Let me go get him and I will let you know,” said Mrs. Stottle, who said goodbye before Mrs. Panim could say another word.

Mrs. Panim called the school office, they sent another teacher up to watch her class, and she herself made a bee line to her son’s nursery school.

When she got there, and ran into the school, she saw Mrs. Stottle already there, on her hands and knees, with her big feet sticking out as they always did, and as she got closer, she saw that the older woman was attending to her son. The nursery school teacher was also there, trying to calm down the howling little boy.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Panim,” said the nursery school teacher, who appeared to be holding back a snicker as she spoke. “Your son got … well … he was … .“

“This is an abomination,” Mrs., Stottle yelled, as Mrs. Panim now fully saw her son, fully covered in yellow goo.

“ … one of the other students brought in a jar of Cheez Whiz, and squirted the stuff all over your son,” said the teacher, again holding back a snicker as the other students were laughing on the other side of the room.

“ … we all know he hates cheese, and the kids think he … well … he looks a lot like ‘Eddie Munster’ … so they squirted him with the cheese,” said the teacher, who left Abraham Lincoln Panim with his mother and Mrs. Stottle as she walked over to the other side of the room with the other children.

“ABRAHAM LINCOLN PANIM IS A RAT! ABRAHAM LINCOLN PANIM IS A RAT!” the children yelled over and over again in unison, delighting at the sight of the Cheez Whiz-covered boy.

One little boy, named Brandon Hartung, held the nearly empty bottle of Cheez Whiz over his head in joy as the taunts got louder and louder. He held it over his head with his left hand, as his right hand was covered with a glove.

When the teacher went over to the other students, she tried to calm them down. “Now class, that is not fair,” she said. “What you did was … what you did was—“

And then she started to laugh herself, not being able to hold in her snicker any longer.

Mrs., Panim and Mrs. Stottle carried out the still Cheez Whiz-covered boy, and the taunts got even louder and louder.

And the nursery school teacher’s laughing got louder and louder too.

That was the last time Abraham Lincoln Panim attended a school of any kind during his young life.

But he still continued to hear Mrs. Stottle say over and over, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you … treat other people the way you would like to be treated yourself.”

Rant #3,581: Listen People

Today is the day I will be interviewed on the podcast.

I finally chose the five singles that I will be talking about, and they all have a story attached to them.

I won't tell you what I chose ... just in case you ever want to tune in.

Onto other matters ...

As you know, I did not vote for either Kamala Harris or Donald Trump to be our next president.

I certainly had my reasons, and now I can tell you one of the reasons why I did not vote for Harris, but especially Trump.

The incoming president has been lining up his cabinet over the past few weeks, and quite frankly, the cabinet is supposed to reflect the views of the commander in chief, so his choices have not been too surprising to me.

But one kind of was, especially to the cabinet post this person was named to.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was nominated as ditlrector of health and human services. He has been a long-time conspiracy theorist, with his most vehement belief being that vaccines, which have been designed to suppress numerous severe illnesses, actually cause maladies like autism.

His beliefs have absolutely no basis in fact, and have been proven to be completely fraudulent time and time again.

However, his beliefs about vaccines reached fever pitch when COVID hit us, and some of those beliefs were echoed by Trump during his first term--although the president at least partially reneged, and his Warp Speed initiative actually got the ball rolling for the development of a vaccine to at least mitigate the coronavirus.

Anyway, RFK Jr. ran for president, and bowed out as Trump said he would offer him a cabinet post if he beat Harris--

Which he did, handedly, as the vice president ran what has to go down as one of the worst presidential campaigns in recent memory.

So Trump kept his word, and nominated his new buddy to this powerful.post.

The problem is that RFK Jr. will continue to voice his imbecilic views, and on a major podium.

And what's worse, there are a lot of people who actually believe this drivel, and believe it as if it came from God's mouth.

And RFK Jr.'s views could greatly impact how we handle such diseases if he is confirmed.

I have seen more anti-vaccine posts on Facebook than I ever have, and the people who actually believe that vaccines cause illness really need to be told that their views are as stupid as they actually sound.

I belong to a group which is led by a popular movie and TV actress from the 1970s and 1980s, and she--and many of her followers--actually believe this nonsense.

She put up a post about the hazards of vaccines, and amongst plenty of people who supported her stance, I decided to give the other viewpoint.

And as someone who suffered as a very young child with one of the diseases that we have an actual vaccine for--one that rid the planet of this disease until recently, when some parents prohibited their kids from getting the shot--I think I have a pretty good, and perhaps unique, view of this.

And I don't just blame RFK Jr. and his flock; I blame our current administration, who, stupidly, fed the populace a rancid bill of goods related to the COVID "vaccine"--which isn't really one at all.

There are a lot of culprits here about why people doubt these real, honest to goodness vaccines, and as someone who actually had one of these once-eradicated diseases, I had plenty to say on this subject--and this what my rebuttal was.

There really is nothing more to say on the subject.

"These anti-vaccine people are very foolish. Think about how they have virtually wiped out polio, measles and other diseases ... until these ignorant souls held back their children from getting certain shots, and now you have incidences where these once obliterated scourges have come back.

What's worse, those holding their kids back from getting the shots received the shots themselves when they were children ... and now as adults and parents, they won't give their own kids the shots? Ludicrous, to say the least!

I think these people are so against the shots because of the COVID shots. Yes, we were initially told that those innoculations would obliterate the disease. The government should never have said that. As we all know, the shots work, but only lessen the severity of COVID if you get it. 

Since the COVID shot is not of the same effectiveness as the other shots, some among us conflagurate those shots with the  other shots as being cut from the same cloth, and they do this wrongly.

Get your kids ALL the shots. They will ward off entirely diseases like measles, and they will prevent serious complications from other diseases.

I cannot believe grown people are even arguing about this in 2024. I guess that just because you can have children doesn't mean you should, or are a true parent.

Get your kids the shots, which are required by many school districts anyway. Don't put your kids at peril.

(And by the way, you can bet RFK Jr., himself, got his measles, polio and the other shots when he was a child ... so what exactly is he blabbering about?)

--A Measles Survivor"

Rant #3,580: Genie In a Bottle

Finally Friday ...

I have had a very busy week, with all the doctors' appointments I had and being very busy with things I had to do for work.

Next week should be more fun, leading up to Thanksgiving Day on Thursday and Black Friday the next day, which for me is Record Store Day.

Last year was a horror show for me during this period, so this year, I plan on having a good time--

No, a GREAT time.

I can actually sit at the holiday table this year; last year, I was planted on the couch, away from everyone, because I was so banged up--

With the best still to come, as little did I know that I would hurt myself again, in another freak accident--

And have to have another operation.

So this year, I plan on having a GREAT time during this coming week.

As for the podcast I am going to be a guest on (see yesterday's Rant if you have no idea what I am talking about), I think I know what at least one of the records I am going to profile will be, and yes, as part of whatever I say about it, I definitely will try to include a mention of my old neighborhood, Rochdale Village, Queens.

I am not just name-dropping here; I bought this record in a specific store in the development's first mall--we had two, one at each end of the community--and I remember making this purchase as if it happened yesterday.

The other records ... I still don't know yet, to be honest with you.

I have five choices to make, and it's like having a limited amount of wishes on the genie's lamp ... I want to pick five records that I can talk about, with some good stories about them.

The first one that i chose fits the bill, but let's see what I figure out for the other four.

Otherwise, while I am trying to figure out exactly what to do, why don't you read the next chapter of my novel? 

Have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday--

By that time, I am sure that I will have the five records i plan to talk about all figured out.

7

Abraham Lincoln Panim grew up like any other child would, progressing from being a baby to being a toddler and then, being of school age.

Mrs. Stottle did everything a nanny could do to make her new charge comfortable and familiar to her, taking up her new job as if she were born to do it.

She doted on little Abraham Lincoln Panim as a grandmother would, which the little boy loved,

Mrs. Stottle would arrive promptly at 7 a.m. each weekday—never a minute early or late—and she fed him, played with him all day, took care of his dressing, his feeding, and whatever else was needed.

And from day one, she would tell Abraham Lincoln Panim over and over, as if the little boy could understand her every word:

“Do unto others as you would have the do unto you … treat other people the way you would like to be treated yourself.”

She would try to go outside with her little charge, but she learned that he didn’t take too kindly to being taken outside during the day. Mrs. Panim reiterated that she did not have to do this, because she would take him outside when she got home, but Mrs. Stottle tried, and tried again, and tried many times to get her young charge out into the daylight, but each time, it did not work.

Whether it was people howling at the child when they took a gaze at him, or the child acting up like a tornado when he got outside, the daylight and Abraham Lincoln Panim did not mesh well.

When Mrs., Panim arrived home at about 4 or 5 p.m. each day, Mrs. Stottle would have a laundry list of things to tell Mrs. Panim about her son.

“Your son did so well today,” said Mrs. Stottle on one particular day. “He ate up all his food, he didn’t give me the least bit of problems when I had to take care of his diaper, and we played all day. My feet hurt, but that is good—it means we had a full day!”

“Great!” replied Mrs. Panim, worn out from her busy day at school but happy that her son was doing so well with his nanny, who she seemed to know, but simply could not place days and months after she was hired.

“And,” Mrs. Stottle said that particular day, “you know, a lot of the hair on his little body is falling off, falling off in bunches when I bathe him.”

As little Abraham Lincoln Panim was getting older, moving from a baby to a toddler, much of the hair on his body was falling off, at least from the neck down.

And later, as he approached school age, the hair on his face also was falling off, leaving his face almost hairless—except for a clump of thick hair on his upper chest, hair that still protruded from his lip and nose area, and, of course, the thick swatch of dark hair he had on the top of his head that kind of made a point at his brow and went down both sides of his face, below his ears, making him look like he had dark sideburns on each side of his head.

Although a good portion of the excessive hair was falling off, Abraham Lincoln Panim still kind of resembled at rat, but a not-so hairy one.

“Wow!” said Mrs. Panim. “What type of shampoo are you using on him?”

“Just the usual stuff,” Mrs. Stottle said. “I don’t think it is anything I wouldn’t use on myself, if I had the need to bathe myself like I do your son.”

Eventually, when he was about four or five years old, Abraham Lincoln Panim lost almost all his excess hair—except that burr of hair on his upper chest, the thick hair that he had on his head that stretched down to make sideburns that went past each ear, and the hair protruding from his lip and nose area. but his face continued to resemble that of a rat, with a sharp nose, little beady eyes, and the excess hair had not totally fallen off of his face.

And he still could not stand the smell of cheese, often going into convulsions when he would smell any type of cheese wherever he was.

Rant #3,579: Everybody Is a Star

I did what I had to do at the doctor, and with that done, I am back at my usual perch today.

I welcome myself back, and I welcome you back too.

One problem: I have a similar situation in two weeks--two very early doctors' appointments--so I will probably have to do this all over again after Thanksgiving.

One doctor after another ... I guess I am squeezing all that I can out of my health plan, which will end on December 31, with a brand new plan with another company beginning on January 1.

I don't need to be a fortune teller to look into my own crystal ball and see that because of the change in insurance companies, I have a lot of paperwork thst I am going to have to fill out in the coming weeks and months whenever i go to my doctors.

I hope I don't get writer's cramp.

Otherwise, did I tell you that I was going to be interviewed on a podcast on Monday?

Out of the blue, I was contacted by someone who runs such a podcast, and he asked me to talk about my record collection.

The podcast is called "Top Five Vinyl," and it can be accessed at https://m.youtube.com/@Top5Vinyl.

The host told me to talk about my five favorite vinyl records, and since I have my 45s easily at my disposal--most of my LPs are in storage--i will choose five of my favorite singles to highlight on the show.

I don't know which 45s I will choose, but I have 5,000 singles to pick from, so while I have many choices, it should not be a problem.

I don't know if the show goes on live or is recorded, but whatever the case, you can access the show at the site I listed above.

It should be fun.

Something a little different to fill up my already busy schedule.

And we are going to finally get some rain in my neck of the woods.

We are so far off where we need to be as far as precipitation that in these parts, this fall has been the driest autumn on record.

So we are supposedly going to get it; it started yesterday night, and might continue off and on for the next few days.

With whatever we get, it will help lessen the wildfires, and hopefully douse them out.

Me?

Since I don't have a parade to partipate in, you can definitely rain on my parade.

And come to think of it, for the podcast I am going to be on--

How would the Beatles' "Rain" single fit in?

Just a drippy thought ... .

Rant #3,578: Check It Out

Today is the beginning of a very busy week for me.

I have a couple of early doctors' appointments, so I will be in and out of the Blog this week, probably missing the next two days, and returning toward the end of the week.

Happily, I am feeling fine, but I do need some things to be checked out.

Call it "my personal body inspection/maintenance" if you will, but this is the week for it--

Just prior to Thanksgiving and the end-of-the-year holidays.

After last year, I want this season to ne a good one, the best that it can be.

I was just so messed up.last year at this time that I vowed to be much better this year, and hopefully, I can accomplish that.

Things are going pretty well right now, and I just need to get this stuff out of the way.

In the meantime, won't you read the sixth chapter of my novel?

Please let me know what you think of it, positive, negative, or somewhere in between.

Speak to you again later in the week.

6

After she gave birth to her child, Mrs. Panim had a tough time going back to her job at school, but she felt that if she could find someone to watch her son during the day, she would be able to do so.

After trying out several nannies—and most of them being too horrified at the sight of the baby to stay around very long—Mrs. Panim was worried that she would not be able to find anyone to watch her son.

One day, Mrs. Panim was in the local supermarket, shopping for groceries, and she had her son straddled to her as she was looking through the produce section.

An elderly woman, with her white and gray hair tied neatly in a bun on her head, entered the store after Mrs. Panim did, and the older woman went right to the produce section, moving right next to Mrs. Panim as each looked over the store’s selection of lettuce.

“The price is so high right now,” said the older woman, who moved from side to side with a slight limp. “I do wish I could make myself a good salad, but everything is so high. And my feet hurt so, I just can’t gallop over from one market or another to look for produce.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Panim, with one eye looking at the produce, and with the other eye looking at the older woman’s feet, which she saw were kind of large for a person of that stature, as if her feet were swollen. “Prices are very high.”

“And they really must rub you the wrong way,” Mrs. Stottle replied, as she saw the baby that Mrs. Panim had straddled to her. “How do you feed your child, anyway? I hope you can do it better than I can feed myself.”

The two women got to talking, and Mrs. Panim learned that the older woman’s name was Mrs. Stottle, she was a widow, had a husband who passed away just recently, and although he had a small pension, she was finding it harder and harder to make ends meet.

When Mrs. Panim got a clearer look at Mrs. Stottle’s face, she thought that she recognized her, but could not place her.

During their talk, Mrs. Panim found out that Mrs. Stottle had plenty of time on her hands, as she told Mrs. Panim that the only time she left her apartment was to go food shopping.

As Mrs. Stottle talked, Mrs. Panim continued to try and figure out why she knew the older woman, but to no avail.

“Listen, Mrs. Stottle, to help you out, how about me hiring you to be a nanny for my son,” Mrs., Panim said, confident in the fact that she somehow knew this person, e3ven though she could not place her. “I will bet that you would be a great nanny for my son while I am at work, and I would definitely pay you a very fair price for your services.”

Mrs. Stottle said, “Well, I don’t know, I haven’t watched a baby in so long a time,” and then the elderly woman began to sob.

“What’s wrong,” Mrs. Panim said. “Is it something I — “

“No, no, it is nothing you said,” Mrs. Stottle replied. “It just brings up … well … some memories I have of … .”

Mrs. Stottle wiped away the tears, got back her composure, and said,” Yes, yes, I do believe I can do it! What’s your baby’s name and can I take a look at the child?”

As Mrs., Stottle got close, Mrs. Panim pulled away, not ready to allow the older lady to take a peak at her son. Finally she took a deep breath, and did not pull back anymore.

“His name is Abraham Lincoln Panim and here he is,” as Mrs. Panim took back the blanket that her son was wrapped in to reveal the child’s face to the older woman.

Mrs. Panim sensed that the older woman would recoil, like all the other nannies she tried to hire did, but Mrs. Stottle did not even wince, putting her hand on the child’s head.

“Mrs. Panim, I would be honored to watch little Mr. Abraham Lincoln Panim while you are at work,” Mrs. Stottle said as she squinted to get a better look at her new charge. “He looks like a fine young man. I don’t have any references, but I know — ”

“I will need you to watch him during the week, five days a week, from about 7 a.m. to about 4 or 5 p.m.,” stated Mrs. Panim, almost in disbelief that Mrs. Stottle agreed to the assignment.

Mrs. Stottle reached into her pocketbook and her hands fumbled inside of it, and finally she found her glasses.

“I can’t see too well right now, and even with these glasses, my eyes aren’t what they used to be,” Mrs. Stottle said as she put the glasses on. “Nope, I still can’t see that well, but your son looks like a fine boy to me, as best as I can see him, at least.”

Mrs. Panim had never heard anyone say that her son was “a fine boy,” and she kind of forced a little smile on her face when she told the older woman, “And please, no cheese. Do not feed my son any cheese, do not even have any cheese in anything you want to eat. My son appears to be severely allergic to cheese, any cheese.”

“Oh yes, I would love to watch the little boy,” Mrs. Stottle said. “When can I start?”

“ … and he hates to be taken outside during the day,” Mrs. Panim continued. “I have tried to get him a little air during the day, but I guess the sun gets to him … I will take him out when I get home in early evening. Remember, you don’t need to take him out during the day, he much prefers the evening.”

Soon after this chance meeting, Mrs. Panim went back to her teaching job, fully confident that Mrs. Stottle would take care of her child while she was away at work.

But somehow, no matter how hard she thought about it, she could not place Mrs. Stottle at all. She knew the face, but she didn’t know a “Mrs. Stottle” or anyone with that name.

Mrs. Panim often sat up nights, trying to figure out who Mrs. Stottle was. When she did sleep, she continued to sleep on the right side of the bed, leaving the other side of the bed empty, just in case Mr. Panim ever decided to come home.

#3,577: Wishin' and Hopin'

Like yesterday, today is another important anniversary in my life.

Certainly, this anniversary is not up to what I celebrated yesterday, but it is something that I have to acknowledge.

Today, it has been exactly one year since my family and I moved from our home to the apartment we are now residing in.

It is a sad anniversary.

We went from a house that I personally lived in for more than 50 years, downsizing to the small apartment we have now, moving from a community that we had roots in to one where we were/are newbies.

I was hurt, I couldn't do much of anything to help in our move, and I, myself, had to be physically moved to our new apartment by my sister's husband, who basically carted me over in the back seat of his car and deposited me in our new abode.

And after spending six weeks or so in a chair 24 hours a day because I was so hurt that I could not make it up the stairs in our home, I forced myself to make it up the stairs at our new residence, and slept in a bed for the first time since my accident--

But little did I know I would soon have amother accident in our new residence, have to go through another major operation, and work hard to this day to make sure I could be as close to the person I was as possible.

It has been a very, very rough year in our new residence, and I will be honest with you, I don't know if I will ever really and truly get used to it.

Moving from a house to an apartment is a real step-down, but at least I can say that my recovery continues unabated, and I am certainly more comfortable than I was being, for all intents and purposes, chained to the bed for six months.

So we have been here exactly a year as of today, and while i am not ecststic about our situation, we made it through the first year, so perhaps things will be easier for us in our second year and presumably, yesrs to come.

i sure hope so.

And while I am wishing and hoping for better things, why don't you take a gander at the fifth chapter of my novel?

Comments and criticisms are welcome.

Have a great weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday ... the beginning of a very busy week for me.

5

Abraham Lincoln Panim had a tough go at it from the very beginning, and it continued through his childhood.

Although his mother believed he was the cutest baby she had ever seen, few people agreed with her. When she would take her son out in his baby carriage to get some sun, Mrs. Panim and her baby were the target of many taunts.

One time, a few weeks after Mrs. Panim brought her son home, and the weather had turned from cold winter to less-cold spring, a woman wanted to see the child Mrs. Panim was wheeling around. She was with her own teenage daughter, and the two approached the carriage on a bright spring day.

“May I see your baby?” asked the woman, overdressed in a winter coat meant for temperatures 30 degrees lower than they actually were.

“Don’t bother them,” said her daughter, neatly styled in a spring outfit. “They have better things to do—

“I would be happy to show you my son,” Mrs. Panim said.

The elderly woman approached the baby carriage with her daughter, turned down the blanket that was covering young Abraham Lincoln Panim, and she shrieked, but not with joy.

“This is not your son!” screamed the woman, and she, like the young nurse several weeks ago, fell to the ground by the side of her daughter.

“Mom!” she screamed, took one look at the child herself, and wobbled a bit, but not enough to fall to the ground as she bent down to tend to her mother.

“That’s a dog, or maybe a rat, that’s not a human being!” yelled the younger woman. “You should be arrested for parading that thing around here! And if my mother is hurt, you are going to hear from my lawyer!”

Mrs. Panim knew right then and there that the world would not be as accepting of her son as she was, and she never again took him outside during the daytime, preferring for strolls at night, when street lamps and the light of the moon were the only illumination.

When she would go out at night with her son, she would instinctively look for her husband, anticipating that he would be coming home at last.

But she looked and looked and looked, and he was nowhere to be found.

But that ended up being the least of her problems.

Abraham Lincoln Panim was the world to Mrs. Panim, but the world appeared not to be ready for Abraham Lincoln Panim.

Rant #3,576: Roll With It

Yesterday afternoon, while I sat in my car, waiting to pick up my son from work, my mind was wandering, daydreaming away, and then, something dawned on me.

When I first started to drive way back in November 1974--when I got my first full-fledged adult driver's license--my first car was my dad's old yellow medallion taxi, a 1970 (?) Dodge Coronet that was long and sleek and ... very yellow.

He had purchased I think what was his first Checker cab, so I got what he didn't need anymore.

And I believe that today is the 50th anniversary of that special day in my life, when I received my first adult driver's license in the mail.

I have owned many cars in the past 50 years, but that first one was special to me.

It was my first car, which made it special right then and there.

But it stood out like a sore thumb, especially where I parked it in high school, among numerous brand new cars parents gave their kids.

It had lots of miles on it, it only had an AM radio--I later added an under-the-dash FM radio--and it had no air conditioning--

But it had the best air vent of any car I ever had, and when it was open and you were on the open road, it was like a hurricane in the car!

The car leaked all over, didn't get great gas mileage, but it was MY car, my first car, so it made it super special to me.

The car made it through high school and all the way through college, and I don't remember at what mileage my father gave it to me with, but when I finally gave up the car, it had more than 218,000 miles on it.

I hated to give it up, but after the years my father drove it--two or three of heavy-duty use--plus the five years I drove it, it was time to move on.

I learned to drive on that car--my father taught me--I took my road test on that car, and I drove my first miles as a licensed driver with that car, so how could I ever forget my first car?

I wish I had a photo of it, but unfortunately, I don't, which saddens me.

There must be a photo somewhere, but I don't have it.

What a car, and what memories I have of it and the places it took me.

I can barely remember my next car--I bought it used, and it had cigarette butts in its every crevice, as the original owner was an extremely heavy smoker--and I drove that car during grad school and some time afterward , but I have few memories of that vehicle. 

I can't even remember what make and model it was! I do know that it was a smaller car than what I had, but other than the cigarettes and the size, I honestly don't remember very much about it.

But I guess you never forget your first car, and on the 50th anniversary of my first driver's license, it is still very vivid in my mind.

And if you are wondering what my first trip was in that car, I took myself and my mother to the bowling alley where I was in a league at the time, just to make sure I could make the trip.

I was as careful behind the wheel as I could be, we got there without a problem, we left, and then we were about two minutes away from our house, and--

Out of nowhere, a dog darted just ahead of me.

I slammed on the brakes, my mother and I, happily, did not go through the front window--remember, back then, you did not have to use the seat belts, and they were buried in the crease of the front seat anyway--and I miraculously avoided the dog.

We made it home safely, thank God.

Based on that experience, I knew two things right off the bat about my driving.

The first, I was already a good driver, and the second, if it is ever again between me and a stray animal, I will do my best, but the animal gets it.

Funny, I have had similar situations during the past 50 years, but never anything thatclose.

So there you have it.

Do you remember your first car? Any interesting stories about it?

I would love to hear from you!

Drive, he said ...

And I did just that.

Rant #3,575: Every One's a Winner

Finally.

I finally have my peace of mind again

Yesterday, I was given my extra parking pass in my apartment complex, and finally, I can basically park wherever I find an open space.

As you know, this was not always the case, and I had to either find a visitors spot--me, a resident, parking in a visitors spot makes absolutely no sense--or I was out of luck, taking my chances in parking in one of the dozens of unoccupied spaces that dot the landscape here.

And one time--which I vowed to be the last time--I was towed, for a price of $260, in cash.

I was forced to get a handicapped parking permit--which I really don't feel that I need--in order to bypass these idiotic rules, because you cannot tow a car with a handicapped pass from a handicapped spot ... if you can find such a spot.

When i could not find a visitors spot, I parked in the handicapped spot, which drew the ire of one of our neighbors--our next door neighbor--who claims the handicapped spot in front of our apartments was "her" spot.

I did everything I could to explain to management that their rules made no sense--

But as I have said time and time and time again, it appears the only way to get action--in a variety of circumstances--is to threaten legal action, which I did.

Funny, within just a matter of weeks after I was towed, management bent a bit, especially after I complained to them again about yet another time I could not find a "legal" space for my car. 

That was about two weeks ago, and i threatened legal action again--

And last week, they took my threat to heart, and I received my pass yesterday.

Sure, they are charging a pretty penny for this "privilege," but at least for my money i get not only peace of mind, but I no longer have anxiety about whether I will get a space or not.

And this problem is at all times during the day and night, not just at certain times during the day.

So this situation, once again, proved two things:

1) You threaten legal action, and you get results.

2) If something is wrong, and so wrong in this particular case, you have to open your mouth and voice your displeasure.

I don't like to enrage management and fellow tenants, but I did what needed to be done.

And yes, I do believe my protests had a lot to do with the change in policy.

Visitors spaces should be for just that, visitors.

My family and I are residents. Just because we have two cars doesn't mean we should be looked at as visitors.

And when outsiders have the parking passes which are not being used by residents--including aides, family members and others who are not residents--well, I think I had a good case to argue legally--

But honestly, I am happy it did not get that far.

So while my pocketbook continues to get lighter, the placement of my car in an "illegal" parking space won't cost me ever again.

Next question:

Can I take the monthly parking fee off on my taxes?

Just asking ... .

Rant #3,574: Freedom

Monday, Veterans Day, was a pretty lazy day for me.

I had a doctor's appointment in the morning, but other than that, I had very little to do during the holiday.

My work--a trade association representing military stores--had the day off, so I guess I did too.

It was nice outside, perfect for the Veterans Day parade in New York City, and I watched some of it on TV.

My dad served in the Marines during the Korean War, as did my father in law, and one of my wife's brothers served in the Navy, so the day is certainly part of my family.

And for work, I cover military stores--exchanges and commissaries--so while I never personally served myself, I do have at least a finger in the military lifestyle.

Without those who served, we would have nothing, so the day is always more than a day off, it is a day to honor those who served, those who returned, and those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

And in 2024, with the world in tumult, it is even more important for our country to honor both our veterans and those who currently serve.

So yesterday was a day of reflection, a day to think about my father and all the others who served.

There really isn't much more to say about the holiday, the day after.

Perhaps I should have switched my Blog posts, with yesterday being today's post and today's being yesterday's post, but both posts had a common thread:

Freedom, and the ability to do what needs to be done based on the situation.

And while we are thinking about that theme, please read the next chapter of my novel.

I would love your feedback, positive or negative, so enjoy it, and I hope to hear from you!

4

When Mrs., Panim was finally set to be released from the hospital, she had asked for her husband an endless amount of times, but whoever she asked, she was told they did not know where he was.

Finally, she confronted Dr. Newsom.

“Where is my husband?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the doctor said, again putting his hand through his hair like a comb. “I just don’t know where he is.”

Right before Mrs. Panim was going to be allowed to leave the hospital with her son, one of the nurses who attended to her when she was out, the older nurse, with thick legs and a limp--told Mrs. Panim about the supposed whereabouts of her husband.

“You must swear that you won’t tell Dr. Newsom or anybody here that I told you this,” the nurse said.

Mrs. Panim nodded in agreement.

“Your husband visited the hospital to see how you were doing when you were out cold, and he was taken to see your child for the first time by me, and it happened before you were well.

“When I took him to see the baby in the maternity ward, and he was shown the child, he shook his head back and forth and back and forth so much that I thought he was going to throw his whole body out of joint.”

Mrs. Panim started to cry.

“He then did something kind of odd,” the nurse continued. “Your husband just stood there for about 10 minutes shaking his head, and then, he took out a penny from his pocket, and flipped it in the air.”

“What?” Mrs. Panim said through her sobs.

The nurse continued. “I clearly saw that it fell on heads when it hit the ground, He picked it up, put in my hand, turned to the nurse’s station, thanked them for showing him his son,, and then he left.”

“He hasn’t been back here since?” Mrs. Panim asked through her sobs as the nurse gave her the penny.

“No, I am sorry, we have not seen him since.”

Mrs. Panim promptly put the penny among her belongings, and walked to the maternity ward to get her son.

She kept the penny in a plastic bag stapled to her son’s birth certificate, safely stored in her bedroom vanity.

Abraham Lincoln Panim now had a name. He might have been named after a coin that his father gave to a nurse, but Mrs. Panim still kept her part of the bargain between she and her now evidently estranged husband, giving her son a strong name to match his gender, the gender that her husband knew before anyone else did, simply by flipping a coin.

So as Abraham Lincoln Panim grew up, Mrs. Panim raised him as a single mother. She never took down her wedding photos or any photos of her husband, and she always thought that he would return.

Rant #3,573: Money Changes Everything

I hope you had a good weekend.

My family and I celebrated my wife's birthday, and that was the weekend's highlight.

On Saturday, someone on Facebook put up some interesting information about synagogues on Long Island.

This subject always piques my interest, because there seems to be fewer and fewer of these religious facilities around today, and one would probably think that this situation shouldn't exist, because Long Island still has a large Jewish population.

Growing up in Queens, my parents were quick to join the conservative synagogue in Rochdale Village, seeing it grow from a former house to its own large building 

It, and the other synagogues serving Rochdale Village, gave its members a sense of community, and all of them prospered during the early days of that community, roughly 1963 to 1971 or so.

That is where I was bar mitzvahed, and the synagogue had a vibrant membership until in the early 1970s, when Jewish families moved away in droves.

I believe the synagogue was converted to a church sometime in the 1980s. It is in the picture above in an undated photo.

Now, in 2024, one synagogue after another has closed or merged on Long Island, and one has to question why this is. 

Having been synagogue members in Massapequa and Wantagh, I can tell you exactly why all these shuls have closed.

Conservative Judaism is simply not what it once was. When my family moved to Long Island in the early 1970s, the first thing my parents did was join a synagogue ... when they were about to join a local synagogue but found the membership fee was too high--especially after just purchasing a house, we were told to go to the "bar mitzvah mill" around the corner 

That was the precursor of an attitude, and of things to come.

As an adult, with my own family, I, too, joined a synagogue so my son could be bar mitzvahed, but it just wasn't the same.

The sense of community that the synagogue once had was replaced by the sense that money was way more important.

We were constantly barraged with requests for payment of one thing or another, and High Holy Day tickets became such a monetary abomination that we just decided it was too much money to pay for all of us, so we maybe bought a ticket or two and rotated who would go in at what time.

The final straw came when there was a merger between our synagogue in Massapequa with one in Wantagh, which happened right as my son was about to be bar mitzvahed.

We were treated like second-class citizens by the temple in Wantagh, and when we decided that we would hold our own kiddish after the ceremony because what they offered was too highly priced, the commotion this caused was unbelievable.

My son is developmentally disabled, so his Haftorah had to be shaped to what he could handle. 

That was a major imposition for the new combined synagogue, which basically was forced to fit us in at an 8 a.m. service before their regular congregants kids' bar mitzvah services were held that day, making my son's bar mitzvah the very first one held in the newly combined synagogue.

But even getting to that point was a horror show of major proportions.

Again, my son is developmentally disabled, and thus, was thought to be a "problem" from the get go.

During one of my son's bar mitzvah lessons--which I attended because the teacher thought there would be trouble with my son acting up, which was totally unfounded--the synagogue's comptroller burst into the room, telling me that in no uncertain terms, my son's ceremony would be "interrupted" if I did not pay for their kiddish.

I told the comptroller that if they dared to do this, they would face my wrath, and the wrath of others who were attending (yes, I toned this down for your consumption).

Suffice it to say, nothing happened in that regard, my son's bar mitzvah went along perfectly, and I swore on that day that we were done with the synagogue.

Then, after our membership elapsed, they tried to extort money from my family to rejoin by automatically signing us up as members against our will--and charging us an exorbitant price for membership.

This went on for months.

After threatening legal action, they finally dropped us.

This situation was so reprehensible, to the point that we have been unaffiliated without a synagogue since that time, a good 16 years.

And during that time, the Wantagh synagogue has gone through at least one more major merger, perhaps more than that.

Money changes everything.

As the Bible says, once your religion's focus centers on "false idols" like money, the religion ceases to exist.

In this case, the synagogue's focus went from Judaism to money worship, and when that happens, many congregants, like us, won't put up with it.

It is a sad story, but I think thst it has resonated through a few generations now, and Jews don't necessarily feel the need to join their local temples anymore.

There is little to no sense of community provided by these facilities, and you can always find an outside bar or bat mitzvah teacher if you need one.

And today, with anti-Semitism at all-time highs around the world, it is truly sad that synagogues do not serve their original purpose as they once did.

I am sure there are temples that still do this, and do things the right way, but they are larger and have a wide membership base, because for Jews who need to join a synagogue, the local ones, at least on Long Island, are something of a thing of the past.

Sad, but true.

I have "learned" on my own to continue my faith, but it simply isn't the same, and that is no truer than this year, when the first night of Hanukkah falls on Christmas Eve.

Hanukkah, the true and first "Festival of Lights," might get lost in the shuffle, but at least in my family's window, our menorah will burn proud and bright.

Rant #3,572: As We Go Along

Well, the election is over, Trump won, and there is little else to say about it--

Other than it is time for the crybabies to grow up.

Your choice lost. 

The end.

Moving on ...

The community I live in finally came to its senses about the parking situation, or so it appears.

I had another talk with the manager the other day related to parking, and the very next day, they put up a notice on the door of the community center stating that they will soon be testing giving out extra parking passes to those who want them--

At a price.

The price is costly, but for my own peace of mind, it is worth the expense.

I simply can't be driving all around here at all hours looking for a space where I can park--

Having to pass up probably about three dozen spaces because I am not allowed to park in these spaces.

Total stupidity, and I told management that I am definitely interested, and they told me that when everything is set in stone, they will contact me.

I already filled out the paperwork, so I am ready to go--

Or park my car, as the case may be.

My wife's birthday is this weekend, and even though she isn't a real birthday person, we are going to celebrate with gifts and going out to dinner at a local eatery.

So it should be a good weekend.

You have a great weekend too.

And while you are having your great weekend, how about reading the third chapter of my novel?

Please let me know what you think about it.

Here it is. Speak to you again on Monday.

3

A phone rang in the maternity ward, and a nurse picked up the phone.

“Maternity ward,” the nurse said.

“Yes, this is Dr. Newsom, and SHE is on down to see you,” with the emphasis on the word “she.”

“Should we let her see her little … bundle of joy?” the nurse asked with a little giggle.

“She is going to have to see that kid sometime, we held it off for long enough, let her see her kid, no matter what, and have a nurse, or maybe even a doctor go with her,” said the doctor. “This way, we will have backup if she … well … if she can’t take all the joy she is going to get from seeing this kid.”

As the nurse hung up the phone, Mrs. Panim entered the maternity ward with her IV still fully attached to her arm.

“I want to see my baby!” she yelled at the nurses stationed there.

“But m’am,” one of the nurses said, “You still have on the hospital gown on, and —“

“Let her in, but go with her to see her kid,” said the nurse who was on the phone with Dr. Newsom. “Go with her, and help her if she needs it.”

As they walked together further into the ward, the nurse, a young woman seemingly right out of nurse’s school, with long blond hair under her nurse’s cap, said to Mrs. Panim, “You were out for a couple of days, so we put your baby with others, and you can view the baby through the glass for now. I am sure you will be able to hold your child soon.”

The nurse and Mrs. Panim went further into to the ward, navigated all the twists and turns, and finally came to the viewing area, where some of the newborns could be seen behind glass.

Mrs. Panim hurriedly looked from one baby to another.

“Which one is mine?” she asked. “Is it a boy or a girl? Which one is mine?”

All the babies could be seen clearly as Mrs., Panim’s eyes darted from one baby to another.

The nurse knocked on the window, alerting another nurse that she needed her help. The nurse tending to the babies went to the far back of the area, almost instinctively, and turned around one baby who was facing the wall in the opposite direction of the other babies.

“There is your baby, m’am,” nervously stated the nurse with Mrs. Panim, who put her arms on the new mother’s shoulders when she pointed out her new child. “That is your son,” she said, as the inside nurse turned the baby around so Mrs. Panim could see him.

As Mrs. Panim caught sight of her son for the very first time, she smiled a broad smile, but the nurse holding onto her shoulders passed out at her side. Other nurses and doctors attended to the fallen nurse, but Mrs. Panim kept her eyes straight on her new son.

“He is beautiful,” she said. “Simply beautiful.” I can’t wait until I can hold him, feed him, bathe him … “ Mrs. Panim said, oblivious to the fallen nurse and to the hubbub surrounding her baby, and the reason that the nurse helping her passed out.

Her new son looked like a rat, had the face of a rat, was hairy from his head down to his toes, and although he did not have a tail, that is where the tale of “Abraham Lincoln Panim” actually begins.

Rant #3,571: Get Over It

"Trump won. It had to do with the state of the direct economy--not the overall economy, but how people feel about their overall standing in the direct economy--i.e., the cost of everything, especially groceries--and Harris really was weak in that regard. 

So get over it--Trump is our president, whether you like it or not.

(And by the way, I wrote in my choice for president, so I didn't vote for either candidate.)"

"Trump won.

The Democrats did not learn from previous races. 

You do not put up rich celebrities like Oprah and Beyonce to stump for you the night before Election Day.

It turns average Americans off, and like when Hillary Clinton pulled the same stunt, she lost, and now, Harris pulled this, and it turned off those on the fence, and Trump got their votes.

When will they ever learn?"

These are two posts I made on Facebook yesterday morning related to the presidential election, and really, I could stop right there--

But I won't.

I was speaking to a friend on Tuesday, a friend who is a Democrat inside and out.

He said this to me (paraphrase):

"Trump and Harris ... it is a sorry state of affairs when this is the best that the Republicans and Democrats can do for their respective candidates for president."

And that is precisely the reason why I did not vote for either candidate.

I am forward thinking, and I believe Nikki Haley might very well be part of our future, starting in 2028.

There is plenty of crabbing on social media, but these people cannot see the forest for the trees ... Harris was simply a weak candidate, and I do not think she will run again in four years or beyond that.

One person already blocked me for the nerve I had to post a differing opinion than his on his own post--and he used the filthiest of language in doing so, calling me the "C" word, the same word used by some people to disparage women.

And Harris made a nice concession speech, the very thing Trump should have done when he lost four years ago.

Instead ... you know what happened, and you also know that one of his first acts as president is that he is going to pardon those thugs who are in the pokey for their part in the insurrection--

Something I completely and totally disagree with.

These knotheads are criminals, not heroes--

And one more reason I could not vote for Trump.

For those who are nauseous, think of it this way: Trump is essentially a lame-duck president.

He can only serve these four years, he cannot serve a third term, so in four years, we will start the ball rolling all over again.

Let's see what happens--

But America has spoken, and Donald Trump is OUR choice.

Rant #3,570: Over and Over

So, did you do your civic duty and vote?

If you did, you did the right thing, no matter who you voted for and who ends up being the winners.

If you didn't, you did not perform your civic duty and you have absolutely no right to say anything about those who won and those who lost.

We won't fully know who won for another day or so, so I will hold off on saying anything about that.

I think I already said enough by not voting for either of the major candidates.

And you know what the best thing about all of this is?

NO MORE POLITICAL COMMERCIALS!!!!!

These commercials were ubiquitous for the past few weeks.

Some were vicious, and others were, to say the least, completely disgusting.

In New York, we had one commercial that came with a disclaimer, both at the beginning and end of this abomination, and let me tell you--

It takes a lot to repulse me, but this particular one did it, and did it good.

Otherwise, these political commercials ran seemingly non-stop, and I am not really talking about the Harris and Trump TV ads, I am more reflecting on the ads touting local races.

I don't know about where you are, but in New York, many of these commercials--which ran incessantly--were vicious.

So happily, we are now free of them--

And we can go back to complaining about the usual TV ads, which are annoying on their own.

I was alerted yesterday afternoon that on Thursday, I have to cover a webinar for work that will look at Election Day and its various implications.

It should be interesting, I guess.

Whatever happens, the country is divided, and this past Election Day will probably show that the divisions remain.

But Election Day is over, thank goodness, and my family and I were full participants in the voting process.

And the winner is--?

As I am writing this, it appears that Trump is on his way back to the White House.

I will have a bit more to say about this tomorrow, but suffice it to say, I am not that surprised at this outcome.

But as they say, "it ain't over 'til it's over," so I will hold off saying anything more until it is officially over.

And good luck to our new president ... he--or she--is going to need it.

Rant #3,569: Do It Again

Happy Election Day!

Don't forget to vote.

It is very important for every citizen to vote, and being that we are voting for our president for the next four years, it is imperative to get out to vote--

No matter who you cast your ballot for.

My family and I voted weeks ago by mail.

Since we moved around the time of the last election, it simply made it easier for us to do it by mail.

I have no idea who my wife and son voted for--but it really doesn't matter--

At least they cast their ballots.

Me, as you know, I wrote in my presidential candidate, because quite honestly, both major party candidates don't do anything at all for me.

But who did I vote for?

Well, I really don't have to tell you ... 

But I will.

I voted for this person because this person was kind of a middle-of-the road candidate when this person was in the race.

No, I did not agree with everything this person said, but this person aligned with a lot that I believe in, more so than Harris and Trump did.

And the interesting thing is that I will bet this person actually garners thousands of votes in this election, voted for by people like myself, true independent voters who can't vote for the two major candidates.

This person is our future, and I will bet this person runs again in 2028--

I voted for ...

NIKKI HALEY

And I hope others did too.

Any vote for her or any other write-in vote is not a wasted vote.

It sends a strong message to the two major candidates that people like me did not support you, and you are going to have to show us how good a commander in chief you are to get our vote the next time, in Harris' case, or, in Trump's case, support the next Republican presidential candidate--if it isn't Haley--the next time around.

And on another topic, yes, I did get a raise--thanks to the "top guy" at the company for green-lighting it!

So there you have it.

Back to the vote ...

And while you are waiting on long lines to vote, please give a look at Chapter 2 of my novel.

Let me know any feelings you have about it.

Vote "Yea" or "Nay," just like in the presidential election.

2

A day or two later, Mrs. Panim, still not fully awake and not quite making out where she was or what happened to her, finally came to, slowly opening up her eyes and trying to focus on what was before her.

She saw two nurses standing before her as her vision slowly came into focus.

“Where am I?” she shouted, nearly jumping out of the bed in doing so.

One of the nurses, a tall, thin woman with long hair neatly tucked under her nurses’ cap, came over to her to get her straightened in the bed while trying to calm her down.

“Everything is fine, everything is good,” said the other nurse, a short, kind of squat older woman with grayish white hair tied up in a bun on her head, as the taller nurse put her arms on Mrs. Panim’s shoulders. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Mrs. Panim finally realized that she was in a hospital.

“Why am I in a hospital?” she shouted to the nurses. “Why am I here? Where is my husband?”

The shorter nurse, who looked very familiar to Mrs. Panim, even in her current state of grogginess, said to her, “You took a great fall at school, and we had to bring you here to get better.”

When the words “get better” came out of the shorter nurse’s mouth, Mrs. Panim put her hands on her belly, and realized that it wasn’t as round or full as it had been.

She panicked. “Where is my baby? What happened to me? Where is my husband?”

The shorter nurse approached Mrs. Panim, and even in her current condition, she could see that the woman had thick legs and a slight limp. As the nurse got closer to the bed, Mrs. Panim tried to make out her nameplate, but only got to “M-E-Y-“ as she tried to gain her composure.

Mrs. Panim continued with that chorus of questions as a tall man in a white coat, Mrs. Panim’s gynecologist, came into the room and approached the bed where she was laying.

“Mrs. Panim, I want to talk to you about why you are here.”

Once she recognized  Dr. Newsom, Mr. Panim thought she might get some answers. “Why am I here? Where is my baby? Where is my husband?” Mrs. Panim continued to shout out, but the doctor put his finger over his mouth to try and get her to stop shouting and to listen to what he had to say.

When she finally quieted down, Dr. Newsom spoke.

“Mrs. Panim, you had quite a fall at school the other day. The EMTs came as fast as they could, and you were brought here to the hospital, and —“

“Where is my baby?” Mrs., Panim asked again, shrieking out her question.

“Your baby … well, when you fell, it was necessary to force childbirth a little bit … you were almost at term, anyway, and you fell in such a way that we thought that it would be the better situation for both you and your child to be separated.”

“Where is my baby?” Mrs. Panim shrieked again. “Where is my baby and where is my husband?”

“You are a bit … well, you are a bit weak to hold and … well … see the child just yet,” the doctor said, as he put his right hand through the hair on the top of his head like a comb. “You don’t realize that you have been in here a week already, and you are just now coming to.”

“A week? Did I fall on my head? Where is my baby?”

“You fell in kind of a weird way, falling on your face and when the EMTs came, they said your hand was holding its nose in such a way that it kind of … well … it kind of looked like you had smelled something quite unappealing to you and that you were trying to not smell whatever that was.”

Mrs. Panim thought about how she was thinking of cheese when she had fallen, so the whole thing made sense to her as she reached up to her face and for the first time, felt a large swath of bandage on her cheek and nose.

“Mrs. Panim, the nurses took all of your vital signs, and they appear to be OK, but I think I want you to give it another day of rest before you will be able to see your baby.”

“If my vital signs are OK, why can’t I see my baby? I want to see my baby, and I want to see my husband.”

The nurses and the doctor each made a nervous smile as they all looked at each other.

“Mrs. Panim, I would wait a day or two, or maybe even three, before I saw the child,” the doctor said, trying to hold back what appeared to be a nervous chuckle. “It will make the surprise even … I mean the surprise at whether the child is a boy or girl, even … well, even more … um … stupendous!”

“I want to see my child, and I want to see my husband!” Mrs. Panim shouted. “If my vital signs are OK, then why can’t I see the baby? Is the baby sickly or anything like that?”

“Well, no … but Mrs., Panim, please listen to reason … waiting an extra day or two after you haven’t seen the child for so long when you were out isn’t going to spoil the … the um … the pleasure of seeing your child for the first time a day or two from now.”

“If I don’t see my child right away, I am going to speak to my husband, and I will sue you. Do you want to be sued?”

“Well, no, but Mrs. Panim, listen to reason.”

“There is NO reason not to see my baby,” Mrs. Panim said, as she got off the bed, stood up still attached to the IV, and started to unsteadily leave her hospital room.

“Mrs. Panim, wait … Mrs. Panim … Mrs. Panim … !,” the doctor shouted as she pushed him and the nurses aside as she left the room.

“I dare say that that woman might have a heart attack once she sees that kid,” the doctor said, suppressing s short laugh as he looked at the nurses, who continued to have nervous smiles on their faces.