Dedication and determination

by Tracie Hawks

Hi. This is Tracie, Rosemary's sister. She doesn't know that I am writing this column.
You won't see this editorial in the latest issue of the TNT. As a matter of fact, she will freak out when she sees this and demand that I remove it right away but I feel that her faithful readers should know what a dedicated and caring person she is.

Rosemary has been dealing with pneumonia for the past couple weeks and I must say that in my 37 years of existence I have never heard my sister sound so dreadfully ill then I did this past week. Yet, she still somehow managed to pull all the many pieces together to produce this week's issue of the Toano-Norge Times...and work her part-time job!

It may be a 'light' paper this week but there's really nothing 'light' about her dedication and determination to make deadline and have the paper on the newsstands and your doorsteps in regular fashion.

After a Doctor visit and a trip to the ER, Rosemary is doing much better.

Take care of yourself girl!

Send Rosemary a get well wish at toanonorgetimes@aol.com
 

Behind the Yellow Chair


I hear it’s your birthday!

by Patricia Rowe

It’s My Birthday, too, yah! Let’s get zen for a moment, shall we. If you have a birthday and no one sends you a card or bakes you a cake do you really get a year older? This thought occurred to me because I recently celebrated - if that is the right word - a birthday. I’m not willing to say which birthday exactly, but I will go so far as to admit that I have passed that milestone birthday wherein black banners get strung, black balloons are blown up and gifts consist of drugstore products such as Metamusil, Depends and Poligrip (I’ve never been quite sure if the givers of these fine products were trying to be funny or practical, or which is worse.) And although the tone of the mailings from the AARP get more urgent with each passing week - suggesting that if I don’t get off my can and pony up for membership I probably won’t be around long enough to enjoy the 10% discount at participating Hampton Inns and Suites - I haven’t yet reached the point of receiving gift certificates for the joint replacement of my choice or a shiny, new, tricked out Hoveround Personal Mobility Vehicle http:/info.hoveround.com/
hoveround/unique/102903.php?keyword=hovearound&
utm_term=hovearound&&gclid=
CMe8g4fjhZUCFQOaFQod
ZCG4rA. Anyway, having a birthday reminds me just how youth oriented we are as a society. Getting older is something we are supposed to be ashamed of. Especially if we end up with any unsightly sags and bags. Maybe we should put bags over our heads before going out in public so as not to offend the sensibilities of those who haven’t yet reached that point. Which, when you think about it, isn’t really that bad an idea. Think of all the time and money saved on make-up and hair styling products. But, I digress. We don’t start out that way. Ask any second-grader how older they are and they will likely tell you, with great pride, that they are 7 1/2. They can’t wait to get a year older. And if you want to make a new best friend, tell a 14-year old girl that you swear she looks 16. But attitudes really start to change in the 20s. Try telling a 24-year old she looks 26 and you will get an entirely different response. Getting older really isn’t a difficult concept to grasp, even for a 20 something. We are born and from that point forward every day we manage to make it through the day without be crushed to death by a flaming chunk of space debris, we get older. Repeat the process enough and eventually you end up old. The funny thing is, most of us are all for the dodging falling space debris, it’s the getting old part that bothers us. It seems the idea is, you hit 25, stay 25 for the next 4 or 5 decades, then you just die for no particular reason. No one can figure out why you died including the coroner who ends up putting a big question mark on the line on the death certificate for cause of death. Other cultures reportedly revere their elders. So how did we get to the point of looking upon getting older as some kind of curse? As a member of the Baby Boomer generation I would like to blame our parents. But seeing as they were recently let off the hook for just about everything when they were dubbed the Greatest Generation by journalist Tom Brokaw, I guess we can’t blame them. So that kind of leaves us, the Baby Boomers, the generation that wanted to live fast, die young and leave a beautiful corpse. The generation that wasn’t going to trust anyone over 30. The generation that, according to the latest Just For Men hair-coloring commercials , swore it would never get old.
Only we did and we don’t like it very much.


 

Yes Virginia, someday our phone line will be repaired

“Daddy? Daddy?”
That was Virginia calling out from her bedroom. Virginia is my 6-year-old daughter. Three months ago she was diagnosed with cancer, an aggressive type, and needs her rest. I’ve had to give up my job to stay at home to take care of her. Her Mom is an Army Medic, deployed to Iraq six months ago.
“Yes, Virginia?”
“Why can’t I watch the Olympic horsies on the ‘puter? I wanna see Misty jump!”
These are the times I really miss her mother. To try to take her mind, and mine, off her constant pain, I had told her that her favorite story-book horse, ‘Misty of Chincoteague,’ was going to be showing at the Olympics and that we would have to watch it from the DSL line to the computer instead of the TV, since the equestrian events are rarely shown.
“It’s like I said, honey, the phone line is broke and the Verizon repairmen haven’t been out to fix it.”
On July 28 I had a fence installed along our property line, to keep the neighbors pit bull from attacking little Virginia again. She just can’t run away fast enough these days and another bite might be fatal. Although I had called “Miss Utility” out to mark the power, cable and phone lines, they had missed the phone line. The fence guy accidentally cut the line. He called Verizon to come and fix it; they said they would come that day, but never did. Virginia and I were out of town that week to the Mayo Clinic for another round of her chemotherapy.
When we got back on August 2, I called Verizon again. The customer representative tried to convince me that the fault was in my house (“I’ve tested the line sir, there’s nothing wrong with our line.”) but I told her “No, I can see the two ends of the phone wire sticking up out of the ground. The phone worked perfectly before the wire was cut, and went dead immediately after the wire was cut. I’m sure it’s the cut wire.” The Verizon rep had told me that they would be out August 7 to repair the line. I thought it was incredible that it would take them five days before they could come out to do a 15 minute job, but was at least relieved that the internet access would be working before the Olympics started on the 8th. That, and we could get e-mail from her Mom again, the only way she has to keep in touch with us from the war zone.
On Thursday August 7, no repairman from Verizon had come to the house. Instead I received a call on my cell phone, a mechanized voice telling me that due to circumstances beyond their control, Verizon would send out a repairman the next day, sometime between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m., please be at home.
Friday, August 8 came and went with no sign of a Verizon repairman. I had run out of medicine for Virginia, fortunately, my good neighbor Bobby was able to go to the pharmacist after he got off work. I hope I gave the pills to little Virginia on time (the Doc told me it was vital that I keep to the schedule, surely being six hours late wouldn’t do too much harm.) I called Verizon again; they said that due to circumstances beyond their control, Verizon would send out a repairman the next day, sometime between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. I told them I needed something better than that and explained how long we had waited, so they finally said they would send out a repairman on Saturday, between 8 a.m. and noon. I was miffed, for that was when the equestrian trials started and I wanted to make sure Virginia had a chance to see the horses, for she had grown alarmingly weak over the past day.
On Saturday August 9 I again called Verizon about 10 a.m., to make sure a repairman would come. They assured me that “Yes, you are on the schedule and a repairman would be there before noon.” Noon came and went, no repairman.
Around 1 p.m. I called Verizon, for Virginia was breaking my heart with her crying over not being able to see “Misty” jump. Verizon once again assured me a repairman would be out that day, the phone would be repaired before 7 p.m., and that she would have the repair dispatcher personally call me within the hour. “Well,” I thought, “maybe I can find a podcast for Virginia.” The dispatch supervisor never called. Around 3 p.m. I received yet another mechanized call from Verizon, saying that, due to circumstances beyond their control, Verizon would send out a repairman the next day, sometime between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. Now I was really mad. I called Verizon back and the customer rep connected me with a supervisor. This surprised me, for when I asked to speak to a supervisor during the 1 p.m. call I was told there wasn’t one there. The supervisor, wasn’t very helpful, all she would do was once again tell me that a repairman would be out the next day. I will admit that in my anger I allowed how I thought I had been lied to, repeatedly, and that I didn’t think they would repair my phone line in time. Little did I know these words would be prophetic.
“But Daddy…Verizon said they would fix the phone on Thursday, then Friday, and now today! I’m never gonna’ see Misty jump! It’s been two whole weeks and the phone still doesn’t work, the Olympics will be over before the phone works again! I wanna e-mail with Mommy!”
I struggled to hold back my tears. “I’m sorry honey.”

I got a cool washcloth for Virgina’s brow, for her fever was up and she was looking pale. She was able to eat a little clear broth and crackers for dinner, but unfortunately threw it back up an hour later. I got her calmed down again and put her to bed.
“Read me the story Daddy.”
I didn’t have to ask which story that was. Of course it was ‘Misty of Chincoteague.’ I don’t know how, but somehow I was able to read her the story without breaking down myself.
Virginia closed her little eyes, for what turned out to be the last time.
My phone still doesn’t work.

Part II
I sat by little Virginia’s bedside, sobbing uncontrollably, when suddenly I heard the front door open, a rush of footsteps, and my wife appeared in the bedroom doorway!
She took one look at me and then Virginia, instantly sizing up the situation. Without a word she went into full medic mode, checking for a pulse, respiration, blood pressure -then looked at me and said “She’s going to be OK.”
I was stunned. Relieved. Thankful. But mostly stunned. I did the only thing a man can do at these times and said “Buhhh…….wha’?! Huh?….. Hmmm? ….Hey!….. Where’d you come fro……..What the……..?!?”
She said “I’ve been calling and e-mailing you for the past two weeks telling you I was getting an emergency discharge and coming home! Why didn’t you answer?”
You could see the hurt in her eyes. I quickly related the story about the cut phone line, the 10 days of waiting for the service call from Verizon, the four no-shows by Verizon, the broken promises, etc. etc. She walked over and picked up the dial-toneless handset and shook her head.
“But Virginia!” I said, “ What’s wrong with her? I thought we had lost her!”
“It looks like shock to me,” she said, “tell me again what happened today.”
So I told her about the three phone calls to Verizon. The first two when they assured me that someone would come out today. My hopes for having Virginia see the equestrians and Misty. The call from Verizon telling me that, due to circumstances entirely beyond their control they wouldn’t be out today. I told her about dinner and reading Misty of Chincoteague. My call back to Verizon when I was told first that they didn’t have me on the schedule for today, Sunday the 10th, I was on the schedule for Tuesday the 12th (five days after the first scheduled day) and finally the supervisor assuring me that someone would be out tomorrow, on the 11th.
“No, that doesn’t sound traumatic enough. Think. Think hard. Leave nothing out…”
“Well,” I said “now that I think about it, she wasn’t quite ready to fall asleep after the story, so I turned on the Olympics, hoping to see the horses jump.”
“What was on?”
“The Olympics.” I said, a little annoyed.
“No – what sport was on?” she said, also with an edge in her voice.
“Hmmmm…that would have been water polo.”
“Oh no! Tell me, quick! How long did you watch water polo?”
“I don’t know……..10, maybe 15 minutes.”
Her face turned to stone, her eyes filled with the fire that sends a chill down a man’s soul, but not the good kind.
“You Knucklehead! (or words to that effect) Ten minutes of watching water polo is fatal to most adults! Thank God she went comatose before more damage was done!”
I withered. Someday I’m sure we’ll look back at this and laugh. Apparently, though, today was not going to be that day.
Just then my cell phone beeped with a text message. It was from Verizon – a repairman had been dispatched! Sure enough, 15 minutes later a Verizon truck pulls up and 15 minutes later the line was fixed and he was gone, gone like the wind.
My wife looked at me. “So, any explanation for that?”
“It’s hard to say” I said, “and I’m sure I’ll never be able to prove it, but it just may have something to do with what I said to the Verizon supervisor just before I hung up.”
“And that was?”
“Well, I mentioned that I knew somebody down at the TV station, you know, WAVY TV 10 and the 10 on your Side consumer advocacy segment. I asked her if she thought it might be a good idea for me to give them a call, maybe they could help. She allowed as she could not advise me in that matter, but I told her I thought it was worth a shot and I’d give them a call.”
Just then Virginia opened her eyes, smiled and sailed into her mother’s arms.
“Now tell me” my wife said, “Who wants ice cream?”
“I do! I do! Chocolate and vanilla! Both!” was the happy cry.
Virginia said she’d like some too.
Note to the reader:
Parts of the above story are a bit of a dramatization. My daughter is 30 and still with us. My wife is a nurse, but not for the Army. My neighbor does not have a pit bull and his dog doesn’t bite. I do have a good neighbor and friend named Bobby. I really have no idea what a fatal dose of water polo watching may be, but best to not take chances.
The parts about Verizon and their repair center are completely true and accurate. Amazingly, Verizon’s customer service is even worse than the cable company, I didn’t think this would be possible.
If it had just been another rant about poor customer service you never would have read this far. For Part II I decided little Virginia was just too cute to go like that, and I missed my wife, so I brought them both back in case there’s more to these stories.

David Beals
2425 West Miller Rd., Toano


 

 Managing the white-tail deer population

They are without any doubt beautiful, graceful and generally timid forest creatures having only limited difficulty adapting to suburban existence. Interspersed wooded areas having lush perimeter vegetation and drainage areas bifurcated by numerous ravines unsuitable for residential development, provide our local Virginia white-tail deer (Odocoileus virginianus) population in Williamsburg and James City County a normal habitat no longer threatened by the economic needs of Native Americans and altogether devoid of such natural predators as gray wolves, wild dogs, bobcats, coyotes and mountain lions.
According to a recent article in the Wall Street Journal, the national white-tail deer population is currently estimated at between 20 and 33 million, or significantly more than when Columbus arrived five centuries ago.
Brown in summer and grayish brown in winter, females weigh between 90 and 200 pounds, and collect in groups of mother does and their fawns. Males generally prefer a solitary existence except in the fall rutting season. Only bucks have antlers. Both limit their habitat to about one square mile.
Disease and parasites like lice, mites and round worms, and the scarcity of forage in winter often take their toll among white-tails regardless of age. Licensed seasonal hunting in some areas of Virginia and frequent collisions with motor vehicles also impact Virginia’s white-tail population.
The National Highway Safety Administration estimates nearly 1.5 million vehicular accidents each year involving white-tails, averaging 150 human fatalities, more than 10,000 personal injuries, and $1 billion in vehicle damage.
Residential yards having small ornamental trees, succulent shrubbery and edging plants are attractive to white-tails throughout the year, especially during spring and summer. After grazing, deer leave a scent trail from glands in their small, cloven hooves to mark a return pathway.
Beautiful as they may be, a single adult whitetail may consume 3,000 pounds of home owners’ plants and shrubbery each year. Altogether, the total national loss from deer damage to residential property is also estimated to be another $1 billion dollars, a costly expense not usually covered by insurance.
A professionally managed white-tail deer population in our twin communities seems to be the most reasonable solution. This approach would preserve both the attractive native species and carefully landscaped residential properties.

John L. Lunsford is retired and resides in the City of Williamsburg and contributes various freelance pieces principally to local newspapers.




 

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR POLICY:
The policy of the TNT throughout election time for letters to the editor with political content must be accompanied with author’s full name, address and phone number for verification purpose. Letters should be concise and will be subject to editing. All letters published will be up to the discretion of the publisher and space availability. The deadline for editorial content is Monday at 10 a.m., the week of publication. Political candidates submitting news items during this time will not be published unless submitted as paid advertising. Any questions can be directed to Rosemary at 757-250-3195.