Roger is 61

Here’s a picture someone took of me at my mother’s funeral in February 2011.

This is the day in the year I get REALLY lazy – way lazier even than Ask Roger Anything, which will happen again soon enough – when I write almost nothing for my birthday.

R is for Rogers

Apparently, I DO take requests. When I wrote R is for Roger, Redux six months ago, Martha asked, “Have you tried using Roger (or Rogers) as a last name? That might be fun too.” Well, I had not. Of course there are a LOT of them, but here’s the list I thought of:

Go Where You Wanna Go

Roger and Leslie, Corning Glass Works

For her 12th birthday, my sister Leslie received her own guitar. With some assistance from my father, a largely self-taught player, she became quite competent with it in about a month. And that really became the birth of the Green Family Singers, when the three of us used to sing around Binghamton, NY together from 1966 to 1971. The program initially was a variation of what my father had been singing by himself. We would sing harmony on some choruses or responses, for instance, though there were a number of pieces that were three-part harmony throughout.

Leslie and I pretty much stole Hole in the Bucket from my father’s repertoire, though.

Chuck Miller's blogging flashback, involving me

Chuck Miller, without a camera obscuring his face

Chuck Miller, a fellow blogger on the Times Union newspaper site, “came across this old video clip of an event from three years ago.” How did he GET that clip anyway? I’ve never had it.

“In March 2010, the Times Union hosted a blogging get-together at the College of Saint Rose. I remember being part of this event; heck, I even showed up in a little video clip that promoted the event.”

My mom's first year as a mother

Trudy and Roger Green

My sister Marcia sent me via Facebook a whole slew of photos at the end of March. I’d seen most of them at one point, but it had been years. They’re great to see.

This is a picture of my mom, with her eldest child, who is yours truly. It appears that she is filled with unbridled joy, which is lovely, of course. The thing is

Like father, like daughter: to the E.R. again

The Daughter: STILL allergic

When we last saw our intrepid little family, the father of the household was getting a ride home from his overnight hospital stay Friday afternoon by his lovely wife. Saturday, he was still exhausted; he didn’t sleep well Thursday night, and Friday night’s rest was insufficient. He muddled through Saturday, doing a minimum of vacuuming and dish washing, and not much else.

Even Sunday morning, there was a sense of fatigue within him. But since almost everyone knew about the hospital incident, he wanted to show up to prove he was still among the living. Fortunately, all the songs the choir sang he had performed before.

At the coffee hour, somehow the Daughter had gotten permission (not from her father) to eat some coffee cake, despite being unclear about its origins. Apparently it’s one of those items that had that warning that it may be processed in a plant that used peanuts or nuts. She is allergic to peanuts, and peanuts and nuts are often processed in the same place.

Shortly after consuming it, she got every upset. Was it a belated sense of fear? Her father took her into a quiet room and tried to calm her down. She was OK for a bit, but by the time she got home, she had a stomachache, and eventually upchucked. This was actually a good thing; the first time she had an allergic reaction, when she was three, that was how her body responded. So the family thought it was in the clear.

A couple hours later, the Wife noticed, above the knees and below the neck hives over about 30% of The Daughter’s body. It itched greatly. After a call to the pediatrician, another trek to the E.R.

It’s much less busy Thursday at 8:40 a.m. than Sunday at 5:30 p.m. She got some Benedryl, stronger than the OTC we had given her. Then the family stopped at the McDonalds; the Wife seems to believe going inside is faster, an unproven premise, but staying in the car would have meant avoiding the most rude, vulgar-language customer; “Where’s my f@#$ing food?” , more than once, among other things.

The Daughter was asleep by the time the family got home. she got through dinner then was practically carried to bed; the Wife stayed home with her on Monday.

The lesson relearned – no food where peanuts or nuts are processed. I hadn’t heard the rule had changed…
***
That evening,there was an ambulance in front of our house. It was actually called for our next door neighbor’s house. The father of one of the college kids had been drinking a couple bottles of beer with the guy when he was having some difficulties – I didn’t get the details. Turns out e had food poisoning; glad it wasn’t worse.

My second novennial visit to the hospital E.R. for chest pain

Back in 2004, I was having some chest pains, though not on the left side, where my heart is located. Still, I called my primary care physician’s office, and her office suggested I go to St. Peter’s Hospital and get it checked out. I don’t much remember the details, except that I spent about eight hours there before I went home.

Thursday, April 11, I’m getting the Daughter ready for school when I felt a real tightness on the upper right side of my chest; had it been on the other side, I would have thought it was a heart attack and would have called 911. Still, it was most uncomfortable, and I wasn’t doing anything more strenuous than clearing the breakfast dishes. Using the previous advice, I took the bus to St. Peter’s Hospital; it was a straight shot from my house, a little more than a mile away. I COULD have walked there, actually, especially in the time I waited for the ride, but I just wasn’t feeling up to it.

Got to the ER about 8:40 a.m., got seen right away by a nurse. The ER room very…gray; gray walls on most sides, speckled gray walls on the other. They hooked me up to some various contraptions

Embarrassing childhood; am I awesome now?

Jaquandor does a quiz-thing. So I do one, because I’m lazy. Or lack self-control. Or both.

1: What eye color do you find sexiest?

Brown, for sure. Which is odd, since my wife has blue eyes.

2: White, milk, or dark chocolate mocha?

No idea.

3: If you could get a Sharpie tattoo on your back, what would it be?

A map of Europe. In color.

4: Did you grow up in a small or big town? Did you like it?

Small city. I liked it at the time. It’s been slowly dying away, and it makes me sad.

5: Your favorite adult as a child? (and not your parents, if they were your favorite)

March Rambling, about ME – oh, and other things

I may have mentioned (once or twice?) that it was my birthday this month. Thank you for the 70-odd comments (some VERY odd) on Facebook, and a couple tweets, not to mention comments at this blog. Dustbury cited my March 8, day after my birthday, post.

I won second prize in Pret-A-Vivre’s Oscar game. Thanks!

But the person who best got into the “celebrate Roger” spirit has to be

SEX-AGE-narian

I find it mildly amusing that when someone gets to be 60, i.e. a sexagenarian, some oung people seem to get all weirded out that people so OLD are still HAVING sex. Of course, the baby boomers never want to be getting older. “Sixty is the new forty,” and all that. Back in the 1970s, there was an episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show