I evoke the old Geico commercial only for one reason. If you ever had one of these devices on your desk, you will agree that the Rolodex was one simple device. It made frequently needed names, addresses and phone numbers quite easily accessible, with but the spin of a knob.

It is unclear whether cavemen ever really did use them, but for the fun of it, let’s assume that they did. After all, in your former life, wouldn’t you have sought such convenience?

I recently needed to catch up with a fellow with whom I hadn’t done business for a while, but right there he was in the trusty old Rolodex that sat on my desk for years. Who says these crude old devices don’t work?!

But, Hark ! I found that scrolling through my old Rolodex was a little disquieting. Too many of these characters are no longer with us ! No, that is not to say that they moved out of town. They died.

Slow it all down, Lord ! You’ve got things moving a bit quick here !

I know. I know. In the old days, this would’ve been water off a caveman’s back !

Contusion (noun) an injury, as from a blow with a blunt instrument

So says the Funk and Wagnall, but the word might be better defined as such:

an injury, as from receipt of the bill for my latest drug infusion at the Multiple Sclerosis Institute in Philadelphia.

Holy Mackerel! I sit there like a used Edsel for a couple of hours while a drug drains into my veins and am then billed for $7,500.

Easy money, one might say.

I used to be very hesitant to jump on the big pharma bashing bandwagon. After all, battling disease is a noble endeavor, especially if you have the disease.

But, $7500 a pop! As is said, pretty soon it adds up to real money.

Having been in business myself, I would readily posit that drug companies have costs, the likes of which would be difficult to fathom. The cost of research, drug development and clinical trials alone for American big pharma has to be staggering.

That’s not to say that there isn’t the occasional lavish capital expenditure, but that comes with the territory in a monied industry.

They pay their employees pretty well, too. Hey, my dear wife worked for one. They take care of their people, hands down.

Then, shame on me. Here I am bemoaning the cost of an infusion when it’s being paid mostly by insurance. Of course, there is the cost of that insurance.

What did Emerson write ? “There is always some great leveling circumstance.”

There is no cure for MS, but after 35 years of taking medications for it, I am better stabilized today than ever. That is my “leveling circumstance!”

It’s serious stuff ! Repeated stopping and starting of breathing, sleep apnea, is now recognized as a profound health risk affecting one out of five adults. People can die from it, or be furthered in progression toward diabetes, high blood pressure, liver problems, even –perish forbid — dementia.

Well, that sounds mighty depressing. How about we take a moment to examine a lighter side of the condition ?

You’ve at least heard about them; the dreaded C-Pap machine, a technologically sophisticated device that forces air down your nostrils, eliminating the breathing obstructions in sleep.

Is the machine effective ? Yes, but not without what we might call an indoctrination period. This is where the “dreaded” comes in !

Initially, the one that I countenanced looked like something that might be worn by astronauts while space walking. Immediately I could see a problem. This “thing “, supposedly to be strapped to my face, was so unwieldy that I could foresee obvious complications with fitting back inside the lunar module!

“Ah, Houston, we have a problem.”

After consternation visits with the Doctor, we settled on a smaller nose cannula that posed a whole separate set of breathing adventures. The forced air, at times building excessive pressure, simply needs to be released.

Simple. Open mouth and a remarkable exhalation is released, complete with the noise of rushing air, the gnashing of teeth and an odd whistling noise that defies description. No, wait a minute. Perhaps a runaway freight train would best describe, but locomotives seem a bit quieter.

Do understand that this melee of noises is totally out of the control of the person from whose thorax the commotion emits. Humbling to say the least.

And what about the dear lady next to me. Well, if she’s not a lesson in tolerance, then who is ?

I react a bit cynically whenever I see a magazine article entitled as such. The best places according to who ? Some cub writer who doesn’t yet know his back side from page eight ?

Understandably the publication needs to fill space, but isn’t that a hugely subjective question when everyone and their uncle has different parameters?

I haven’t moved since I was two years old, but be assured that if the time ever comes, I won’t be referring to Good Housekeeping for ideas about where to go.

You wouldn’t buy a horse without riding it first and I won’t move without living there first.

When will the next article pose a slightly different question? How long have you lived in your “best place”? Has your living there helped to make it a better place to live? Nay, the magazine is trying to sell copies !

Some say there’s no such thing as luck; that people bring their own circumstance upon themselves, good or bad.

To an extent that is true, but do we really think that events aren’t left to chance ? To Deity ?

Sorry ! You are reading the words of one LUCKY guy.

No, I didn’t ask to be diagnosed with MS, but allow me to offer my view from the wheelchair. Soon you will see just how lucky I am.

To be clear, this hasn’t been a picnic. I’ve been through episodes that I would wish on no one, but there is always some leveling circumstance. Consider that I was diagnosed some 35 years ago. Who hangs in there that long with any number of diseases ? I’m still luckily in the fight.

There are essentially two iterations of MS. One is called progressive. Nasty stuff, be assured.

The other, relapsing/remitting, is my chapter, if you will. Perhaps it should be called MS Lite. Assuredly there are those who would disagree, but it all seems to be relative.

Monthly visits to the Neurologist bear that out. Each time in the infusion room I see several patients. It is not difficult to determine those with progressive MS. Infusions are my monthly reminder of how lucky I am and how unlucky the plight of others.

Incidentally, I’m not glued to this wheelchair. I can still walk, just not terribly far. My cane is reminiscent of Amos McCoy. Who among ye remembers him ?

A few years ago I had to relinquish my driver’s license. Lucky for you, I’m no longer driving the road. Lucky for me, my lovely wife, Judy, drives me wherever I need to go. In fact, she makes my every day neatly bearable.

You see. Didn’t I tell you ? I’m just plain lucky!

In the last thirty days

I’ve blogged sixteen different posts.

Yet this writing condition

Still hasn’t been diagnosed!

I guess I can’t help myself.

It’s an uncontrollable propensity.

To write about a thousand things

With yet increased intensity.

So what will tomorrow’s subject be ?

That’s never really mattered.

As long as the blogger’s mind

Remains delightfully scattered.

Perhaps you have read in my second book, MORE MEMORIES FROM DOWN THE LANE, a vignette entitled Lost in Techno-Fog. It’s been a few years since that writing, but I still remember the favorable feeling that an author has when he reads, then re-reads a bit of his work and finds it to be pretty damned funny!

Yes, it’s true, I’m still lost in techno-fog ! I may regret this, but I thought I might use the blog format to commence a techno-discussion. I would remind all that they are interacting here with someone who is technologically clueless and is content with it that way.

That said, I will just ask for anyone to reply. How does one become “hacked” on Facebook ? I’m hearing about it commonly. Is it simply a matter of someone pretending to be me? Or you ?

Why on Earth would someone want to do that ? Shouldn’t they be a little more selective in whose footsteps they choose to dwell ?

Unless I’m sadly mistaken, my Facebook page does not afford carte blanche entry to my bank account. So, is some numbskull accomplishing anything by hacking a Facebook account? Is it just the peak of mischief or some nirvana that I don’t quite know about ?

Clue me in, please, all of you accomplished hackers out there.

And, while you’re at your nefarious nothings, get a life.

A well known carpenter/contractor here in these woods, many years ago employed a young, wet-behind-the-ears kid who I’ve probably noted in my prolific pages too many times. Well, what can l say? We’ve been best buddies for a very long time, since we were both wet behind the ears.

For libel reasons, I won’t name the contractor who Charlie worked for, but suffice it to say, he was a character. He was tough . He “rode herd”, so to speak. He would bark angry instructions, whether understandable to his men or not.

The construction trade is learned at a moderate pace. Necessarily so. There are myriad details to absorb. A certain task might require specific positioning of the body, for example, to execute properly.

One day, on a roofing job, Charlie wasn’t picking up on a certain technique. Working on a precarious roof pitch is disorienting to a kid, especially when one false move means a twenty foot fall to the ground.

Charlie’s boss was becoming a bit exasperated by the way Charlie was working against himself, given his position on the roof. The bossman’s homespun verbiage was agitatedly delivered thus : By Jesus boy, get your ass behind ya.”

As though Charlie wasn’t sufficiently bewildered by his boss’s lame instructions, exactly what was he to do with this most recent volley? Charlie’s ass was, in fact, behind him. It always had been. The instruction was not at all helpful !

Perhaps it was so, only in that Charlie’s suspicions were further confirmed… he was working for a knucklehead.

With 50 states and a few territories, it’s one mighty big country, wouldn’t you agree ?

You would if you ever drove across it !

What is your state most noted for ?

You know, each state has a nickname or a slogan that highlights a characteristic that identifies it. Nevada is the Silver State, Illinois is the Prairie State, Delaware, The First State, etc.

Then there is the Garden State where I live. Jersey is misnamed, however. Perhaps its slogan should more appropriately be the Maligned State or the Bullied State. Making fun of New Jersey is popular sport. Am I that obtuse to not quite understand why ?

I do know the seasoned joke : “You’re from Jersey. Oh yeah, what exit ?”

To be clear, there is enough about Jersey that doesn’t float my boat. It is too populated. Its location gets in its own way, (where we live, equidistant NYC and Philadelphia.)

It is not that benevolent to retirees, i.e. cost of living. Yes, it’s a bit expensive.

I’ll call it the way it is. Most people who choose to besmirch New Jersey are either following the crowd or are a tad ignorant. Have they been to Hunterdon County? Morris ? Somerset ? Sussex ? If not, then zip it. Folks are consistently wowed by the beauty of this place.

We would probably all agree that every state has a spot or two that are a bit unsightly. Said spots are most likely to be somewhere in a sizable city, but in fairness, they could be anywhere, more to the point, in any state.

There is a population problem, though: more horses per square mile than in any other state.

19 years ago it wasn’t all that happy. Dad passed away on Veteran’s Day, 2000. Did that “just happen” on that particular day ? I’m hard put to believe that it did. Nonetheless, appropriately on that day Lieutenant Clare Tucker passed over the wild blue yonder.

I have since pondered many times, kicking myself for not having asked more questions of him. Yes, I have written about his wartime ventures on the battleship and pored over his war diary, but there was much more that I could have asked.

Thank Heavens, as you were set to sail for the Japanese mainland, that events changed your course… toward home.

Life is then gone, much faster than the war in the Pacific. Faster yet than the kamikaze dive that sank the nearest ship in your formation. Too fast, and now you are gone.

If I could impart one notion to friends here reading, it would be ask away of your folks; of the veterans you know. Record their histories if they are still with us. Record what they did for this country and for us.

Thank you Dad. I salute you.