What CDS Meant to Me

About two months ago, one of my Country Day School classmates sent out a flyer about our 50th reunion and some plans we are formulating for it. Attached to the flyer was a stickie note that said: “Bud, can I get a sentence or two from you about what CDS meant to you?”

I did not know whether to just pitch the flyer and note into the recycle bin or what. I put it on the floor beside my desk on the top of a couple of catalogs and food magazines. Yesterday, I was cleaning out the pile and came across the flyer and its attached note. Frankly, my first instinct was to pitch it.

I probably dwell too much and too long on the things that I did not like about my school and my place it in. I have written poems about some of this (“Training Ground” in Roots and Paths and “Forty-Fifth Reunion” in my upcoming book, Taking Stock). On one hand, I have resolved my issues and feelings from those times. On the other hand, what was was.

Instead of throwing the note away, I put it by my computer to look at while I did other work last night and this morning. My classmate (and friend) asked a good question: What did CDS mean to me? Below is the answer I sent this morning. In it, Mr. Reeves was our music appreciation teacher. The Masque is the drama society where I acted in a play each year. The News is the weekly newspaper. And instead of playing sports (which I really hated), I always got myself appointed manager of the team, a position revered in college, but thought populated by sissies at CDS.

What CDS meant to me:

I gained a lifelong love of the arts through Mr. Reeves, the Masque, trips to the St. Louis Symphony youth concerts, photography for The News and the yearbook. Even though I could not write worth a hoot in those days, something must have registered given my publications as an academic and now as a poet. And I learned how to keep records and the score in every sport offered!

Give Them Credit

Last Saturday I opened a piece of mail from SBC (opps…the New AT&T powered by SBC). The envelope contained an SBC VISA Gift Card also marked Debit right above the hologram. Three pieces of paper, printed on both sides, were also in the envelope.

The first one thanked me for my recent purchase. What recent purchase? It told me how to activate my card. And it also said “Card Value: $0.00.” On the back of this cover letter is a statement (in very small print) from West Suburban Bank outlining their prepaid card privacy statement.

Still a bit confused, I looked at the next sheet. It is the SBC Gift Card VISA Disclosure and Master Agreement that covers both sides of the paper and, again, is in very small print. What did catch my eye was a box on the bottom of the back of the page that outlined a Schedule of Fees. Fees? For what? There is an Administrative Fee to Close Account and Transfer Funds ($10), Card-On File Fee per month ($5), and a Lost or Stolen Card fee ($10).

Now I am a bit dazed. What is this card? If I activate it, what am I obligating myself to? The third sheet of paper (in regular size print) helped a bit, but it still was not clear to me what all this was and whether I should even activate the card.

Customer service was closed on the weekend. The 800 number was of no help in answering my questions. The web site for activation was no better.

Monday morning, bright and early, I called the customer service number and asked all my questions. Seems like it’s a $25 gift card. It expires 4/06. If you don’t use the money on it, they take it away. Still not sure why they sent me one, but okay. Then there was a discussion about how to use it. It still isn’t clear to me whether it’s a debit or credit card (even though it says Debit on it) given what the representative told me. And there is a list of rules as long as your arm about when you can use it and how. I was also assured that none of the fees shown apply to me or my card. They are just things that a bank has to disclose. Right!

So, it’s activated. I haven’t used it as yet, but it did provide some entertainment so far.

Ring, Ring ...

About a month ago, I accidentally misdialed my mother-in-law’s number. I was off by one digit. A couple of weeks later, we got a message on our answering machine from the person at that number asking if we had called and why. I ignored the message thinking, naively, the person would figure out it was a wrong number.

Yesterday morning at 7:15 AM while I was in the bathroom doing my morning ablutions, the phone rang. Marian was asleep, so the answering machine picked it up. I came out of the bathroom and picked up the phone while the caller was leaving his message. Later, I listened to the message that preceded our live conversation. Here is a paraphrase of that message (with my editorial comments in parentheses):

“I am (name withheld to protect all). Someone at your number called my number a month ago. I have left several messages (there was only one that I know of) and no one has called back. My phone shows that your name is (he says my name) and your number is (he says my number). I want to know why you called. If you don’t call me back, I will call (he names our phone company) and I will call the (names the county police department) to find out about you. I will keep calling you until you answer…. (at this point, I picked up the phone not having listened to the message he had left so far).

Me: Hi. May I help you?

Him: I have been trying to get you. I have left several messages for you. Why did you call my phone?

Me: (looking at caller ID and seeing his number) I must have dialed your number by mistake. It’s one number off from my mother-in-law’s.

Him: You say it’s close to a relative's? Well, why didn’t you return my earlier calls?

Me: I just assumed you would realize someone had dialed a wrong number.

Him: Well, I don’t. In these days of terrorists, you cannot take anything for granted. I call all the numbers on my caller ID where I do not know who the person is. And I keep calling until I get an answer.

Me: (pause…) I am very sorry if I have caused you any inconvenience.

Him: Well, as long as you are sorry.

Later in the day, I was calling our son and misdialed by one digit. I got the introduction to a person’s answering machine. I hung up. I assumed the person would realize that someone had misdialed. I guess I will never learn.

Ah, the Noble Crown

In yesterday’s mail, I got a form from my dental insurance plan from the State of Illinois telling me that the gold onlay I just had replaced was not covered. So, I thought the first thing to do was to get online and see what the list of benefits are. I went through the procedure of trying to register as a new user, since I had not been at their web site before, but to no avail. The system would not take my SS# or the ID# printed on my membership card. However, in a manual from the state, I did find a web address that shows all the dental benefits with their codes. What my dentist had coded her work was not on the list, but from what I could see (and what I thought I understood), it looked as if the procedure was covered.

So, this morning I called the benefits hotline. After the usual waiting period, a woman came onto the phone. I asked her about why my procedure was not covered since I thought that what had been done seemed covered. I told her what I had seen, that it said a crown full cast in noble metal was a covered benefit. She would not discuss this with me if I did not have the code of what I saw and would not give me the code. Luckily, my web browser still had the address I had accessed last night and I went to the benefits page and gave her the code. I also mentioned my problem with their web site and was told that lots of people had been calling in to complain.

I asked her why what I had done was not covered. She said that only porcelain was covered. I said what about the line on the benefits page that talks about crowns made of noble metal. What, I asked, is noble metal? I was told it was a certain type of metal. What kind? Would gold qualify? It’s a certain type of metal. (Who’s on first?) I said that all I wanted was a definition. She said to call the Center of Management Services (the state’s contracting agency for all benefits). I said that it would seem that my dental insurance carrier would know definitions. And, throughout our entire conversation from the first question of my name and SS#, it seemed to me that this woman was surly, argumentative. I remained calm but switched from a friendly tone to just deadly calm.

I asked to speak to supervisor. She said okay but then tried to deflect me by telling me again to call CMS. I asked again for a supervisor. She acquiesced and promptly lost me in the transfer…..the phone went dead.

So, I called my dentist’s office and asked the same questions I had asked of my carrier. I got clear and concise answers. Seems like inlays and onlays are different than a crown. Seems like a crown has to cover all surfaces of a tooth and go down into the gum. Insofar as noble metal, that definition is still waiting to be answered.

After my morning chores, I called the hotline again and asked for a supervisor. As luck would have it, the same woman I had talked to before was on the line. She asked if it was in relation to a crown, so it was clear it was her. This time I got a supervisor and explained the entire thing to her (including the attitude of the person who I had dealt with earlier). While she gave me a working definition of a crown (covered) versus an inlay or onlay (not covered), she had no clue what noble metal is. But mine was tested.

Don't Want to be Blase

Last Friday I had my semiannual PSA test, the one where zero is the number that wins the prize. I asked the technician when the results would be back and was told Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning.

Today, Wednesday, as my massage therapist was working on my cancer operation scar and I lazily remembered what was taken out and why, I suddenly realized I had not called for the test results. I rationalized for a minute that if things were not good, the doctor would have called me already. But, to say the least, I was not too relaxed for the balance of the massage.

As soon as my feet hit the pavement outside, I called the doctor's office. How had I come to this? Was I becoming blase about the whole testing thing? I had cancer. It's less than five years since I was operated on. It's sneaky and I don't want to become complacent or expect that it won't come back. Hope? Sure. But not expect, which somehow implies certainty to me.

And I got a little rise in my blood pressure with the call to the doctor's office. The first person I talked to took my name and, after a pause, told me she did not have access to the test results. Lordy. Perhaps they were with the doctor who would not want me to hear bad news from his staff. I was transferred to a second person who again took my name. She asked me to wait. My fears were not assuaged by that idea. She came back on the line and told me that my test was zero.

It took a while for my pulse to slow back to normal.

How to Diet

I have been doing quite well in trying to take off some weight. Seems like all the lamb and sauvignon blanc in New Zealand a year ago has not left my aging body. Well, I am not sure I want to get near a scale right now. Saying I fell of the wagon this weekend would be an understatement. I fell off and the wagon rolled over me as it careened out of control.

Friday evening we joined my older sister and my brother in law at the country club for what I fondly call a trafe feeding frenzy on shabbat. It’s more seafood than you can imagine. There is a monster table with seafood gumbo, caviar, smoked shrimp, smoked scallops, smoked mussels, steamed mussels, a whole salmon, Dungeness crab, seafood salad, regular salad, and much more. Then there is the huge table with stone crabs claws, lobster claws, huge shrimp, king crab, and more. And if you are still hungry after that, the hot table has steamed lobster, scallops, green beans, potatoes, and carved roast beef. All of that does not even mention the over-ladened dessert table. I must admit that I ate a couple of platefuls less than when I have come here in previous years, but I did consume enough food to feed at least three people at a normal meal.

Then there was Saturday. Here we went to a trendy reopened restaurant again with my sister and brother in law along with two old friends. I started with a spider roll (they have a trendy sushi bar) followed by two double lamb chops with all the fixings. And wine. Wine Friday night, too. I had given up on wine the last few weeks as part of my regimen of cutting back on calories. But, hey, if you are going to indulge, why not go all the way?

Then today, Sunday, Marian’s sister and brother in law took us and Marian’s mom to a restaurant about an hour away in Highland, IL. It’s the Blue Spring Café and it’s known for “foot high pies.” First they bring to the table bowls of slaw, apple sauce, and pickled beets along with a basket of hot biscuits and some apple butter. Before the main course comes, they bring bowls of mashed potatoes, white gravy, and green beans. My main course was chicken and dumplings. Marian had gizzards. The food was great. Naturally, we had to follow this with pieces of pie. The tall pies offered were banana cream, coconut cream, lemon cream, and chocolate. All have meringue mounded up to heights that befit their boast.

So, it’s now Sunday evening, time to reflect on a decadent three days. Tomorrow it’s to the gym, but I do have a luncheon engagement.

The Tax Assessor Calleth

About this time of the year, I file a personal property tax declaration for my horse farm. And it never seems to fail that someone from the assessor's office gives me a call. If you know me, you know that I'm keen on details and accuracy on these kinds of things. Well, last year the woman who called wanted to know about a $7 difference between my filing the year before and my filing of last year. This $7 difference was for a set of farm tools and equipment that totaled in five figures. That's a rounding error at worst. Wonder how much money it cost the county to call me about a $7 difference (which, I might point out, was not really there if she had read what I sent her)?

So, it was with no surprise that I was called this morning. "Where," I was asked, "was the trailer listed last year? Surely it must be a horse trailer." "Nope. Only a beat-up farm trailer with no road license that I use to haul fence posts through the pasture to make repairs. It's right there on my schedule of equipment." It was. "I see that you have three horses. Do you have any tack for them? None is listed." “Well, it's old stuff, over 20 years old, with not much value." "Okay. I’ll put down the minimum."

In all, there was one item that was already there in what I sent in and another that has little or no value and will not affect my overall taxes. Wonder how much that call cost the county? Marian said my tone of voice was a tad unfriendly. But, the guy did thank me for my cooperation.

The Mundane Profane

This morning I accessed my bank online and was informed of a new security procedure where I have to pick a picture and give it a title so they and I will recognize each other on a web connect. I was also asked to choose among several challenge questions and then give answers. In all, I had to choose three different questions.

In the first one, I chose “What’s your maternal grandmother’s first name?” as my challenge question. Well, while she had a proper name, everyone called her Pussy. So I put that in the answer space.

The next screen came back with red letters in a warning box: Profanity is not allowed.