Lögberg-Heimskringla - 25.02.1994, Blaðsíða 6

6 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 25. febrúar 1994
One stop shopping
“How are you today?” is
the usual question but senior
citizens never tell the exact
truth. Generally they say,
“OK, or not too bad.” Be
careful when you ask the
question, for you may end up
having to listen to a long tale
such as the following.
First it is having to wait for
the bus which is always late,
or it may be old Henry the
husband who is forgetful and
did not plug in the car. It sim-
ply would not start and by
the time the battery was
charged it was too late to go
anywhere that day. When the
next day arrived, the pain and
headache were so severe it
was doubtful if a prescription
would do any good. Still they
decided to have it filled and
while they were at it pick up
the groceries.
This is where the O.S.S.
or, One Stop Shopping
comes in. It is the result of
the ever alert free enterprise
system competing for the
same dollar. It is very conve-
nient when you have reached
old age. During the early
years it had no significance.
That was when you were pay-
ing property taxes, unemploy-
ment insurance, income tax,
EINAR’S ANECDOTES
By Einar
Amaaon
health insurance, car pay-
ments, hospitalization, pen-
sion plan deductions, helping
your kids through school,
and many more we cannot
recollect in our old age.
Things have changed,
there is money in the bank,
you can hardly wait to pay
the rent, because you still like
to make out a cheque and
besides you do not want to
owe’ any money. The only
other expenditure is for gro-
ceries and prescriptions.
There are few if any clothing
costs, the old ones are OK for
you are no longer interested
in fashion trends. As for the
car, if you still drive one then
the costs are minimal except
for repairs, which occur only
once in a while because the
mileage is barely accumulat-
ing. After all, if you only go to
the store once a week the
annual mileage may not
reach 500 ldlometres.
The only other expendi-
tures are for groceries and
prescriptions. The thing
about prescriptions is, if you
live in Manitoba the govem-
ment pays a large portion in
the way of a refund. All you
have to do is fill in a form
and attach self-adhering
labels to it, as proof of pur-
chase issued by the pharma-
cist with each purchase. So
all you are left with is R. and
F. - rent and food.
With the changing times
there are also changes within.
Every organ has to function
or else it may affect other
organs until they go on strike,
and then you are in deep
trouble. The trick is to heed
that pain and visit your
favourite clinic by appoint-
ment, which if delayed may
cause the pain to go away.
Do not let that fool you, you
never know they may find
something else wrong. If you
are old enough they are likely
to fínd something wrong.
In the good old days, med-
icine came in a small bottle
filled with a thick and usually
a dark liquid that had io be
taken by the teaspoonful at
regular times during the day.
The taste was awful and the
contents messy leaving a bit-
ter taste in your mouth. This
has changed. What used to be
liquid is now a tasteless solid
or capsule that slides down
the throat with ease. It comes
in a clear plastic container
with a snap on safety lid,
which a highly intellectual
senior may have difficulty in
opening, unless he or she can
see to line up the colourless
arrows. This is to prevent
children from opening the
container and devouring the
contents. This is all fine until
you have several varieties,
some once a day, others sev-
eral times a day. It requires a
multi-compartment dosage
box or at least a record note-
book to account for multiple
medication.
Then there is the food you
have to buy and prepare.
Fortunately it is well pack-
aged and often pre-cooked to
make matters simpler.
As we become older the
food component tends to
decrease while the pill com-
ponent increases. Our large
food stores have recognized
this and obligingly provide a
dispensary. All you need to
do now is to bring a grocery
shopping list and prescrip-
tions and you are ready for
O.S.S., for F. and P. Or, “One
stop shopping for food and
pills.”
Strong man
becomes a
boxer
By Birgir Brynjólfsson
ICELAND
trong man, Hjalti “Úrs-
us” Árnason, has signed
a four year contract with
boxing promoter John Black of
Las Vegas. Mr. Black, looking
for a “white” boxer, lined
Úrsus up against a ten year vet-
eran boxer, by the name of
Tyron, for a three round
match. Hjalti “Úrsus” managed
to knock his opponent down
in the second round due to in-
exþerience and lack of training
in this sport. Extensive training
lies ahead for him and it will be
interesting to see how he does
in the future.
Mr. Black “discovered”
Hjalti when he came to
Iceland looking for a likely
candidate for this difficult and
dangerous sport.
young people of today are addle-
brained.”
“You get into the car and rest, Mr.
Brown, while I go down to Sam’s and
get him to take you down,” said Ed
patiently.
“All right, but hurry,” Joe consented,
ungraciously.
When Ed came back half an hour
later, having found only the chickens at
home, Joe was fast asleep in the back
seat of the car. Ed grinned delightedly,
climbed cautiously into the driver’s seat,
and settled down to watch. And never
did a mother watch the slumber of her
firstbom with a more solicitous tender-
ness than did Ed the sonorous sleep of
Joe Brown. A meadowlark sat on a
fence post by the roadside and sang,
“Spring-o’-the-year.” Ed made a neat
ball of his last letter from home and
threw at it. A big bluebottle fly came and
buzzed around Joe. Ed held his breath,
praying it would fly away. Again and
again it swooped down towards the
sleeping Joe. Buzz-zoom! Buzz-zoom!
Then some stronger attraction claimed it
and it soared into space. Ed breathed
freely again.
Down the road a team and wagon
appeared. That would be Sam coming
from the meeting. Ed climbed nimbly
out of the car and went to meet him.
It was the rumble of the wagon that
woke Joe a while later. Sam Hartney
was a red-haired, good-natured, simple
soul, but he nursed a secret grudge
against Joe Brown, who had repeatedly
“high-hatted” him, and he had a keen
sense of humor. Hence the sight of Joe’s
round face, puckered, open-mouthed,
bewildered, his grizzled hair standing on
end, sent him into gales of laughter. One
loud guffaw followed another, while he
slapped his knee. For once he had Joe
Brown exactly where he wanted him.
“Has the man gone crazy? What in ..
. is the matter with you? Stop your cack-
le and turn your horses around. We
must huriy to the meeting.”
“The meetin’, man! The meetin’ is
over.”
“Over,” Joe repeated slowly. He
pulled out his watch and studied it. His
mouth fell open. Nearly seven o’clock!
He looked from one to the other. Sam
was wiping the tears off with a red hand-
kerchief. Ed’s face was noncommittal.
“What did you do at that meeting,
Sam?” asked Joe in an ominous tone.
“Seein’ you had spoken of gettin’ the
teacher to stay another year and Fred
was there, we drew up the contract and
we signed it, and he took it home for the
teacher to sign.” Sam talked slowly as if
enjoying every syllable. Joe’s face was
dark as a thundercloud when he was
through.
“You blockheads! You blathering
idiots! So that’s what you did. Undid in
one hour my work of seven years. I’ve
been your mate, have run your errands,
carried your burdens, given you my
time. This is how you thank me. I’m
through with you. Keep your red-head-
ed, good-for-nothing of a teacher, but I
and mine go. You ungrateful scum!”
Joe scrambled out of the car and
started walking down the road.
“Joe! Joe! Let me drive you home,”
called the abashed Sam.
Ignoring the invitation Joe trudged
on. He was soon joined by Ed. Both
walked without speaking for a while. A
breeze had sprung up and the air was
cooler.
“You sure have got me into a dickens
of a hole, Ed. My wife will never forgive
me this lapse,” said the crestfallen Joe.
“Let me get you out of it again,” said
Ed contritely. He had always felt sorry
for the old, toothless lion of the fable.
“Sell me your farm.”
“Yes, so let it be,” answered Joe
solemnly.
^
Joe Brown is on the school board in
the city. They say he never hires a
teacher with coppery tints in her hair,
and he never rides in an automobile.
Mrs. Brown is supremely happy in a
wonderful mansion of many rooms with
mirror-like floors and gleaming furni-
ture. There is a rumor that Clarence may
be the next Rhodes scholar.
Helen Aylesworth now wields the
duster in the former home of the
Brown’s. Her husband, Ed Buckley,
postmaster, school trustee, etc., adores
her. In one comer of his desk he keeps a
broken bit of the mechanism of a car. A
friend, wanting to know why, received
the answer, “To help keep me humble
and tolerant.”
And so the game of life goes on.
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