Dribble by Chuck Ferris

   Driving under the influence, even a handicapped person scooter, is treacherous.  Under drugs, you are"not there". 

   I was driving my scooter down the hall and thought, "Oh, look.  I am driving into the wall."  It was like watching a movie of someone else drive his scooter into the wall. I continued thinking, "That's not good.  Hitting wall is bad. I should not hit the wall." With that thought I became myself again and turned the scooter.  Fortunately I was going slow enough for my impaired brain to recognize danger, and to talk it over with myself, come to a conclusion, and then, after all that, act.

   Interesting reaction.  It says on a lot of my medicines, if you take this don't drive,  I see why

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   Started a new medication last night.  Well, I slept.  And slept.  Eight hours....without bathroom visits even.

   This morning I am drugged higher than a High School Junior on Prom night.  Feeling no pain... or much of anything.  Just floating.

   I usually have two tablemates for breakfast.  Alas, one has passed away and the other did not show up.  I do not like to breakfast alone so I joined a lady nearby who was also alone.  We had a nice chat.  Then she left and her usual tablemate lady showed up. We had a nice chat, too.  Or rather I had nice listen.  She was loaded with things to say... her husband is the hospital and she hasn't had any good listener for a while...so I was it.  But I was able, being drugged, to listen and seem to attend to her plaint.

  I took my morning allotment of the jolly pills and my regular assortment of pills.  And here I am...  Well part of me is... another part is out flying in his old Ercoupe looking down at the world from above like Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

   You are too young to remember Oscar Levant.  He was visible to all of us dally on television. Early he was an irascible outspoken blunt person famous because of his remarkable piano skills.  He was talented and respected for his musical skills even though his interpersonal socializing was rough.  Then he started pain medications.

   Drugged, he became mellow, social, easy going, and amusing. Half asleep he chatted amiably, though sometimes his jokes were understood by himself alone.  He was still loved for being himself, even though he struggled to make the piano behave the way it once did.

   Perhaps that will happen to me. Hopefully the drugged out-of-it me will be able to charm my friends and I can be a good listener for folks who need to talk..

   Stay tuned,  Watch the show.  I don't play the piano much, but the computer keyboard still works.  Learn to "read through" the typos...spell check can't catch them all..  I am hiving fun and the world looks good from up here.

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   Pardon me while I use dribble for parsonal letter -- I couldn't find Angie's email address...but you can listen in..it's okay.

   Angie asked if my Mother had remarried and how I lost my father at such and early age.  Father drowned before I was one.  Mother dated several fellows, who befriended me, but one was my favorite, Bart, and they were married. I continued living with my Grandparents and they lived next door.

   But here...this link tells trhe story too.

  And, Oh, Mary, I did not shoot any Italians in WWII.  I shot at a German tank, but the shells bounced off.  The rattle of bullets on the outside of their tank may have given them a headache, though.

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   I actually love the consternation I cause with my magic answer machine.

Two comments...

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   Had trouble going to sleep last night but once I made it slept all night. Great.  Yesterday I spent the day re-reading old Journal entries. There are about 1,500 of them in all. I found some that I can use for re-runs.

   More Contemporary Quotes

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   Answers to few questions asked in comments.

   Yes, that is I in the the pictures of my mother.  I am a fat old man, but I was a skinny teen-ager.  The skin and bones teen I see doesn't seem familiar.  I am also the chubby shy two year old clinging to my mother's hem. My. I was cute. The gentleman with her is my father.  He died accidentally before my first birthday.  The dog is Zig, the family Pekinese. I wonder how he got the name Zig.

   When I was stationed in UK in WWII, our units were based at Wells and Glastonbury in SW England. Only we didn't call it WWII then...just "The war". In Wells I saw the Oldest Cathedral in England and took a trip to Cheddar Caves, where the cheese is aged.  In Glastonbury I saw the Glastonbury Abbey where King Arthur is supposedly buried, and I climbed the Tor behind the town to mount the ancient tower.  In fact we were encamped in the Abbey park at the polo field.  I wonder if it is still there.

   On our troop ship, the Aquitania, formerly a luxury liner, the first queen of the Cunard line, the bunk beds were stacked five high. I chose the top bunk which I shared with my duffle bag stuffed with a gas mask and all the clothing we were issued. I was so close to the overhead (ceiling) that I was able to write on it.  I wrote:

Charles Ferris,

Inducted March '43,

Going overseas March '44,

Expects to be wounded and return to U.S. in March '45. 

  That sounds like a grim self-fulfilling prophesy since it came true, exactly like that, March '45.  But consider, that was the less grim outcome since most of us expected to be killed in combat.  We were going overseas with a high expectation of never returning. That graffiti probably remained on the overhead until the Aquitania was scrapped in 1950.

   Why don't I publish my essays about life in the old folks' home?  Well, I do...right here on AOL in my journal. Dribble.  They are all avaiable.  You have only to click on the Archives link and it will take you back to any issue, starting in 2003.  Happy reading.

   Any more questions?

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   When I posted my entry, Bittersweet, in my journal, I received as many as eight comments before I could even sign off, and even more since. That was amazing to me and several responders said they were praying for me.

   If you have read many of my entries you know I am a non-believer in anything supernatural.

  AND YET, since I posted Bittersweet and many of you have said you were praying for me, I have not needed a pain pill.  Not one Tylenol or aspirin.

   Thank you sincerely. Your Faith has shaken my Non-faith.

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  Sorry to so blatantly steal a line from Reader's Digest: Laughter is the Best Medicine.

   This afternoon I was pain free.  Why?  Because my daughter, son-in-law, and grandson came to visit.  We played two games of Scrabble.  I won one. Great therapy.  And, Lo and Behold, grandson beat his mother and me for the first time.  Better therapy.  The next generation takes over.  During our family games we laugh a lot.

   I forgot to hurt.

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.He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye --
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot chuse but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner

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  A few pictures of my mother on Mother's Day

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