I’m exhausted! Je suis complètement épuisé. Like Maggie Muggins of yore, we’ve had quite a day.
Maggie Muggins was a Canadian children’s radio and television series which began on-air live as a fifteen-minute program on CBC Radio on New Year’s Day, 1947. The highly popular radio program engaged children’s imaginations, with its continuing cast of unique animal puppets and human characters. Maggie Muggins moved to CBC Television to air between September 29, 1955, and June 27, 1962.
The original Maggie Muggins, who performed the role throughout its run on CBC Radio, was Beryl Braithwaite (later Beryl Hart), eldest daughter of the freelance writer and novelist Max Braithwaite. Beryl was ten years old when the series began. Maggie’s signature sign-off was “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”
Our objectives today were at first blush uncomplicated and summary; viz., check out the Renfrew Victoria hospital to verify precisely where the surgeon’s office is located in anticipation of my upcoming consult; and, drop off a tiny gift to my erstwhile family physician at his country seat in the Village of Ashton. There was no medical or other relationship between the two events – though frankly it did unwittingly herald the serendipity that was to follow.
Though you might have thought the hospital attendance to have gone without a hitch – and without attaching blame either to ourselves or others – we nonetheless encountered obstruction from which frustration ensued. We parked on the street adjacent the large stones assembled as a barrier immediately along the Emergency roadway entrance (not far from a formal parking lot). From there we walked to the entrance and then to the Information booth located a short distance inside the front door. There was an assembly of wheel chairs at the front door. Already my sustenance was dwindling upon having completed the relatively short walk from the car along the large stone barrier immediately in front of the hospital entrance to the driveway entrance at the remote end then up the modest incline along the driveway into the front door. When I saw the wheel chairs I knew they were for me. My partner had to endure to indignity of pushing me. For my part, I couldn’t resist thinking, “I’ve arrived! I’m 75 years old being pushed in a wheelchair!” Modesty was in an instant a thing of the past!
We ended having to stand (or, in my case, sit) in front of the Information booth awaiting our turn. Then we travelled along a lengthy corridor only for me to question whether I hadn’t overheard the receptionist give alternate directions to an elevator down another hallway. So back we went. We again asked the receptionist (who fortuitously was not then otherwise occupied) to repeat her instruction, which she did, and we returned along a corridor to an elevator then rose to the third floor where we saw there was (as we had rightly expected) no one in attendance. The reception was but a dark glass wall. It was a Saturday and obviously no business was being conducted. We did however satisfy ourselves that we had the right destination.
On the way back down to the first floor I asked to investigate what was located in front of an alternate entrance I had seen along the corridor. We decided the alternate entrance spilled onto another parking lot at the front of the building from which we could more conveniently position ourselves for the upcoming consult. In the end however, after having driven about the front of the hospital and assessed the layout, we’ve opted to return to the place we first parked (agreeing to use the formal parking lot if the on-street spaces are preoccupied during the business week when we return).
Energized by this achievement we drove back towards the city, first stopping to purchase a Petro-Canada season car wash pass in Stittsville. My Halo® car wash membership expired yesterday and, after considerable humming and hawing, I decided to regain my footage with Petro-Canada where I have dealt for almost fifty years or more. This particular undertaking was fluid (and thankfully conducted with nothing but remote though standard sociability). I like the Indian owners/employees of the franchise. I used my Petro-Points card and my iPhone Wallet App to complete the purchase. We initiated the pass (though without having grasped the ability to enter the wash remotely through the App, a paradigm I believe I have now made functional). And we experimented with the included vacuum machine. Subsequently, upon our return home, I logged onto the Petro-Canada site, removed the old pass card, registered the new one (though not without a brief interruption to collect the Security Code from the car in the basement) and verified the currency of my Account and other details.
What I have omitted from this narrative is the plain matter of putting some sliced Honey Crisp apple and cheddar cheese on a plate then transporting it and the already-prepared chilled espresso from the ‘fridge to my desk. Locating and removing the apple from the ‘fridge was no problem. As for the cheese, I for some reason overlooked seeing a piece of cheese in a bag already partly cut among the apples. In my defence, I had looked for the cheese on the shelf where the other cheeses were located. After examining the various cheeses among that collection I determined there was no cheddar cheese with the exception of a new unopened package. So I took it.
Already my constancy in this culinary enterprise was dissolving. As unthinkable as it may seem to those of you who have a spine, I cannot stand long, least of all without a stick. Slowly my upper body was bending southward. By the time I recovered a plate from the cupboard, grabbed a knife from the block and successfully cut open the cheese package (the wrapping of which seemed made of iron obstinacy), then cut a reasonable size of cheese, cut the apple then sliced it into smaller edible pieces, I was nearing complete exhaustion. I rinsed the knife and put it back. As for the remaining package of cheese I opened a drawer from which I retrieved (instead of a plastic bag) a small plastic container, the lid of which I located immediately adjacent the containers. I then proceeded to put the cheese into the container. It was going to be a tight fit. I reassembled the cheese portions then put on the lid once again. Still the lid would not close. I retrieved the clean knife and cut the cheese pieces into smaller pieces. Still the lid would not close. I ate first one, then two of the remaining slices. The lid fit! I rinsed the knife once again and replaced it.
By this time, carrying the coffee and the cheese plate to my desk was an Olympic undertaking. I collapsed onto my desk chair, uttering untrammelled expletives and sat back to regain some energy and composure.
Now lest this sad account sounds overwhelming, I am obliged by contrast to report the advice of my erstwhile physician (to whom we had earlier delivered the modest package) that the consequence of storm surges, floods and hurricanes in Florida are not to be discounted. Suffice it to say they have real problems extending far beyond whatever complaint I have hitherto advanced.
And as for serendipity, the Security Code of the new season pass is identical to the last three digits of my automobile insurance policy number. The remainder of the day involved removing and expunging stickers from the car windshield (a profitable though highly engaging occupation). Refreshment is afoot though clearly not without its adhesion to the past. Oh, and I am just informed that the spaghetti squash exploded in the microwave.