Anne and I are just back
from three weeks in
England. That’s a trip
I never expected to make
again.
But my other companion
Parkinson, as whimsical as he
is relentless, took a vacation
himself a couple of months
ago. (I’ll explain the likely
causes in another column.) I
was left free, at least temporarily,
from some of the worst
symptoms. And so my bride
and I decided, quite suddenly,
that we’d run under the silent
guns and make the trip.
It was wonderful, especially
since friends conspired to
pass us along, one to another,
making travel easy for me. We
drove to Boston, left the car
with good friends, and were
driven to Logan Airport. Since
I’m poorly equipped now to
stand in lines, we’d phoned
ahead for disabled assistance,
and a wheelchair driver met
us at the door. This man
whisked us around the lines,
right up to luggage check-in.
Then, with our carry-ons piled
on top of me, he steered right
up to the security gate, put
our chattel onto the scanner
for us, and braced the chair
and me as I stood to walk
through the metal detector.
Then we zoomed on to a
waiting area.
We needed to wait because,
following the airline’s
standard directions, we’d
arrived three hours early _ for
a process that had taken only
about twenty minutes. But,
no complaints. That disabled
assistance was a tremendous
blessing, going and coming
back, and despite an unplanned
adventure when we
got to London Heathrow.
As we left the plane, the
stewardess told us to climb
the ramp and be seated;
another wheelchair would
soon arrive. And indeed, one
did, this time pushed by a big
smiling Caribbean with not
much command of English.
I got loaded up, again piled
with the two backpacks and
my sleep-apnea gear in its
own box, and we wheeled off
toward passport control. I had
only to ride and, of course,
hold the load in place with
both hands and my chin.
It was a long run, and
halfway Anne got to step
onto a moving walkway as
we wheeled along beside her.
That’s where the adventure
began. From far down the
long corridor, highballing
along towards me, came an
empty wheelchair pushed by
a short, rather broad woman.
She was calling out in what
may have been Turkish,
and she had fire in her eye.
I thought for a moment she
was going to ram us. My own
wheeler stopped short, and
my Anne was carried away by
the moving walkway.
The squarish woman didn’t
ram but squealed to a stop,
blocking our way. Then she
went at it, hammer and tongs,
at the Caribbean twice her
height. Hers, it turned out,
was our assigned wheelchair,
and the amiable Caribbean
was a gypsy driver who’d
pirated her passenger, and
hence her tip.
She won. I was bustled out
of his chair and into hers, the
carry-ons were re-piled on
top of me, and we speeded
off, the woman still muttering
imprecations at the gypsy.
We caught up with Anne and
hustled on toward passport
check. But, almost there, I
heard a loud clank. The right
footrest had fallen off the
chair.
``Bad equipment!’’ she
shouted in English. ``Bad
equipment’’ It sounded like
a phrase she’d had many
occasions to use. Suddenly
she was squatting next to the
chair, pounding the footrest
on the terrazzo floor. ``Quiet!’’
Anne pleaded. ``My husband
has trouble with startle reflex!’’
(And, like many Parkies,
I do _ if I donÆt foresee the
cause of a loud noise. This
time, I did: a squarish woman
squatting, slamming a shaft
of metal on the floor.) But she
got it fixed, reinstalled it, and
soon was rushing us along
again, up to and through the
passport check.
Customs and luggage
were down a floor, and Anne
stepped onto a very long
escalator while the squarish
woman and I headed for the
top of a pair of long ramps.
She was still muttering, ``Bad
equipment!’’ as we got to
the first ramp, but then she
switched her complaint. ``No
brakes!’’
Well. Since we’ve been
home, I’ve watched a lot of
Olympic ski-jumping. Every
time skiers throw themselves
down that awful first drop, I
relive my Heathrow ramp experience.
Indeed, there were
no brakes on the chair, and I
plunged down that thirty degree
slope with only the
woman’s sheer strength holding
us both back. I couldn’t
look back, but I’m sure she
left a parallel trail of smoking
rubber from her shoe heels.
``Bad equipment!’’ she
shouted as we made a sharp
turn and were briefly on a
level stretch. ``No brakes!’’ and
we hurtled down the second
ramp.
Anne, on the escalator,
missed the whole adventure;
and you can see that I lived
through it. Shaken but laughing
in spite of my self, I was
wheeled to luggage-pick-up
and then through a perfunctory
customs check. Breathless,
we found ourselves in
the crowded airport lobby.
The squarish lady seemed
to have bonded with us. She
was suddenly maternal and
reluctant to leave. But we
insisted we were fine, and we
sent her off with a hefty tip
that was partly a bribe. When
she wheeled away, we felt
relieved and released.
I’ve since had leisure to
wonder: Had she played out
that whole scenario repeatedly
and found it always
worked? Did she end up
splitting the tip with the Caribbean?
Anyway, our friend
Michael Thrower soon arrived
to greet us and inquire after
our travels. We had a great
story to tell him on the ride
down to Chichester.
READ ABOUT Jim Atwell’s book, From
Fly Creek--Celebrating Life in
Leatherstocking Country, at JimAtwell.
com
Columns
Jim Atwell: Harrowing times in Heathrow
- Columns
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In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
It is with sadness that we note the passing of long time friend, and distantrelative, Jane Patrick. Over the years we have worked with Jane in a number of organizations including Women’s Club and the Community Advisory Committee at Bassett. And, of course, in later years we joined her, along with the other Dinner Belles, for any number of delicious meals. But we do think that our favorite memory that we shared with Jane was when we discovered, having both married Cooperstown natives, that we shared Cooperstown Christmas plans.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Cheers for the Blue Rabbit!
My handwriting’s always been an embarrassment. Way back in elementary school, while most of the others were developing a clear, sometimes graceful hand (especially the girls), my penmanship showed no improvement.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that ...
We have found the weather so far this year to be on the unusual side. And while we have no problem with the fact that we have received very little snow, we are of the opinion that what we have had instead is not particularly to our liking either. In fact, we are very hesitant to venture out much as we live in fear that the rain will turn to mixed precipitation which will freeze into a sheet of ice. And we are definitely opposed to encountering a sheet of ice underfoot. In fact, we are so hesitant that we now have taken to canceling our participation in events based on what just might be a dubious forecast.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Feinstein’s latest is sheer enjoyment
Most people who follow sports have probably heard of John Feinstein. As a nationally known author, sportswriter, pundit and broadcaster, he has brought a unique angle to sports journalism. His groundbreaking book on Bobby Knight’s 1986-87 Indiana University basketball team, “A Season on the Brink,” still resonates today as an all-time classic.
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Book Notes: No Trekkie should miss Shatner’s books
It would be hard to find a television phenomenon as popular as “Star Trek.” Even though it was only on television for three seasons and 79 episodes (1966-69) it attracted viewers and devotees that still follow it passionately 45 years later. The fanatical supportspawned several movies and television spinoffs. Star Trek conventions continue to this day. There has never been anything like it.
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Up on Hawthorn Hill: Making sense of things
A book I have been reading investigates the various ways over time that we have made sense of the world. It carries the reader through to the present via several seminal classical texts and ultimately aims to suggest a strategy for “ finding meaning in a secular age.”
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In These Otsego Hills: ‘Property must be secured or liberty cannot exist.’ − John Adams
Last week we were asked if we would be interested in previewing a documentary, “The Empire State Divide,”produced by the Foundation for Land & Liberty. And we were more than happy to do so as we understood the documentary dealt with the problems that continue to face family farms.
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From Fly Creek: Now wait a minute!
On the ninth day of Christmas, driving down Cooperstown’s Eagle Street, I saw something astounding! No, not “nineladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans” etc. I saw one jogger jogging. And puffing on a cigarette.
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In These Otsego Hills: Goals of the past and goals of the future
We have long subscribed to the concept that we are always more successful if we, number one, set a goal and then, number two, meet it. And this was our thinking when we decided before Christmas to watch at least part of every college football bowl game. It was perhaps an odd, if not completely nonsensical, goal.
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In These Otsego Hills: Not to our liking ...
It is with sadness that we note the recent death of Steve Nagel. The son-inlaw of our late husband’s cousins, Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek, Steve was married to the Ecklers’ oldest daughter, Gail. We had the pleasure of spending Christmas Eve with the Nagels and the Ecklers in Fly Creek, greatly enjoying the delicious food and delightful conversation.
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Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of birds and faith
I watch birds quite a bit. Every five days or so I send in a report to Cornell as partof its annual Project Feeder Watch program. The data, collected from volunteers from all over the country, enables scientists to track population trends. I would spend quite a bit of time checking out the visitors to our feeders anyway. Participating in the feeder program makes a personal pleasure that much more meaningful. It is rare that aesthetical and scientific endeavors work in tandem.
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Book Notes: Biography captures the real Stephen Colbert
It would be hard to find a comedian as unique as Stephen Colbert. As the host of “The Colbert Report” on Comedy Central he hasmanaged to leave his mark on the nation’s consciousness in both a serious and humorous sort of way. His unusual wit has allowed him to become American icon. It would be difficult to find another entertainer quite like him.
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From Fly Creek: Christmas and varied blessings
I’m still astounded! The last farmers’ market before Christmas, I was sitting up front, directly under the ceiling heater, shmoozing with the hoi-polloi. (That’s an awkward linguistic mix,but let’s let it go.) As I sipped my hot coffee, a gloved hand came to rest on my shoulder and a warm voice said, “Merry Christmas, Jim.” I looked to my left—it was Santa Claus!
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In These Otsego Hills: Always a learning experience ...
We must admit that we thoroughly enjoyed our 2011 Christmas celebration. We partook of Christmas Eve dinner at the home of Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek and Christmas Day dinner at the home of Sandy and Al Bullard of Milford. We had our usual Christmas Day brunch at home on Pioneer Street, although we must admit it was a tad bit later than usual as, what we enjoyed most about Christmas, namely our granddaughter Abby, took a great deal of time opening her Christmas presents.
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In These Otsego Hills: Coming up ... 2012
Difficult as it seems, 2011 is fast coming to an end. And it is always our hope that as a year draws to a close, the issues which have been in the forefront during the year will be resolved. Unfortunately, we suspect that will not be the case this year. Instead, we are fairly certain that many of the issues that plagued this year, will continue to plague next year. Thus we will find ourselves still musing about the same issues we have spent time with already. And while we have not come toany conclusions about many of the issues, we do think they would all likely benefit from both sides thinking critically about perspective, risk assessment and possible solutions.
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Up on Hawthorn Hill: Circularity
When she was a puppy my dog Gabby would run in what I described then as “circles of joy.” She celebrated her15th birthday a few weeks ago and despite the inevitable frailties that old age imposes upon all of us, she is doing pretty well.
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Book Notes: Grisham doesn’t disappoint
John Grisham is one of this country’s most popular authors. Every time he publishes a book it’s an instant best-seller. He appeared on the scene about 20 years ago with his tense legal thrillers, “A Time to Kill” and “The Firm,”and hasn’t stopped producing top-notch novels since.
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From Fly Creek: Still singing, beyond our hearing
This column from Christmas 2001 still speaks deeply to me, and perhaps will to you, too. Take it, please, as my Christmas gift.
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In These Otsego Hills: The 2011 Cooperstown Carol
Since 1984, with the exception of one year, 1999, we have looked forward at the end of the year to going through all the issues of the paper in order to glean those news items which have been worthy of note throughout the year and which should make their way into our annual Cooperstown Carol.
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In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
