Monday, September 22, 2008

Louella Reads the Baltimore Sun

Sipping the black coffee that served as her entire breakfast, Louella paged through the Monday, September 22 issue of The Baltimore Sun. Good grief! she thought, looking for news. This thing isn't worth a nickel, let alone seventy-five cents! Good thing I didn't have to pay for it at all. Her neighbor down the hall was on vacation, and in return for watering his plants, Louella was told to keep his newspapers.

I mean, I took Journalism 101 back at Towson State, she thought. Sports go in the back. Everybody knows that! What's with this huge picture of the Ravens game, and a stupid sports opinion column? I bet eighty percent of their readers could care less about football, or at least they wouldn't think it should be on the front page, unless maybe the stadium collapsed or something.

She decided to analyse the whole front section. She choked on her coffee when she read the main news story's headline: "Police probe Harris' killing." Like they wouldn't investigate a murder! she thought. That's like reporting 'Dog bites man"! Below that story was something about the pros and cons of having slot machines in Western Maryland. Boy, is that ever a retread! she marveled. Where in blazes is there anything about the financial crisis? For crying out loud, that's what people are really interested in! She glanced at the "Summary of the News" box underneath the large full-color vignetted photo of the sports columnist. Who cares what he looks like? fumed Louella, as she flipped back toward page 8 for the story called "Paulson Pushes Bailout."

She glanced at the pages in between. Another columnist on page two. Waste of prime news real estate. Two big page-three stories about closing some lanes of the expressway for a few hours to allow for biking and walking, and about the city public schools' chief wanting judicial credit for progress made in special education. Local stories! realized Louella. They used to have a local section for stuff like this. I can't imagine people in Hagerstown will want to read a story about the city schools, even if it does have a headline across the entire page. Page four was "regional" news, with brief tidbits except for a one-column story about Constellation Energy getting its first billion dollars from Buffett's buyout. Why isn't this on the front page? Louella marveled. Everybody's going to be affected by this. Doesn't the Sun have editors any more? She thought about applying, but realized there'd be no chance of getting such a job. They've already laid off practically everybody but these columnists, she thought. That must be why they feature them like this.

She flicked her eyes over the page five story—another column, this one about suggestions to improve traffic flow on I-70. This Michael Dresser columnist guy, he must be pretty ugly, she thought. No picture! Or maybe there was no room for his picture because of this Crime Blotter thing next to his column. She ignored it. Crime happens, she thought. Why focus on it? But come to think of it, didn't the Sun make a big deal about how many murders Baltimore had so far in the year? Used to treat that like it was some kind of important sports score. She decided to make a point of checking for that homicide box as she went through the paper.

Page six featured four pictures supposedly giving a flavor of what had happened in the past 24 hours. Nice trick to try to cover the whole world in a half a page, Louella snarked to herself. Her eyes strayed to the very compressed "people and entertainment" section below the picture. Hmmm, she mused. Still don't have a clue about the financial meltdown, but at least I know what actors are having birthdays today, and which films are making big box office money! She read the tidbits about celebrity, thinking, I should have my head examined for even looking at this drivel. Page seven gave huge play to the Emmy Awards, with a sidebar story on what celebrities wore to the Emmy Awards ceremony.

Finally Louella flipped to page eight. Imagine! A whole page devoted to "Nation & World"! she thought. Pakistan bombing—guess that's worthy. Below that story there was a picture of the hairless Treasury Secretary with his mouth open. Louella was surprised; the headline above his picture read, "Democrats want help for homeowners." The subhead, she realized, should have been the headline: "Paulson is seeking quick approval of 'clean' $700 billion rescue plan for Wall Street." What's the story here? wondered Louella. Is it about Paulson's plan, or about what Democrats and Republicans have to say about it? This is dumb. She scanned the newsbriefs about child porn, Chinese children getting sick from tainted milk, South African president resigning, new government forms in Israel, blown tire on jet blamed for crash, panel wants SAT, ACT testing abolished. What a mixed bag, thought Louella. Some of these things should be on page one!

Then page nine grabbed her eye. The biggest headline she'd seen so far in the news section proclaimed, "A blast by McCain." What the?? McCain's always blasting something. What's newsworthy about that? Louella read the subhead, looking for context. "Republican says Obama shows a pattern of weak leadership on Iraq and economy." What the hell is this? thought Louella, who favored Obama. Does this writer Paul West get paid by the McCain campaign to be a shill for them or what? She read the article. Good grief! What do you know! It really is a news story after all. And it balances McCain and Obama quotes and viewpoints. Why in the world would an editor completely mislabel a decent story like this? Maybe the headline writer working on the weekend had an axe to grind. Bet this guy West is pissed off!

The adjacent story, "Palin pick aided Obama," reported that the Obama campaign raised lots of money after Palin was chosen as McCain's running mate. Duh! thought Louella.

Onward Louella went. Page ten, obituaries. Page 11, jumps on the two front page news stories about slots-in-Western-Maryland and robbers-sought-in-killing. Page 12 and 13, letters, editorials, two op-ed stories, and syndicated cartoons. Geez! thought Louella. I can remember when The Sun had its own cartoonists! Now they can't even supply enough reporters, photographers and editors.

She turned to the back page. Oh my God! More about what Ravens fans wear, from that idiot front page column. The banner headline read, "Midlife crisis? Try the goofy attire." Louella felt like gagging. Like they couldn't give this much space to the new government in Israel? I mean, come on! Who are they publishing this rag for? Not me—even a grocery store clerk like me can't find any news in this thing! 

Louella sipped the last of her coffee and carried the Sun to her recycling box and dropped it in without bothering to look at the Sports and You sections. They ought to pay me for the trouble of recycling this! she thought, eyes flinty. What a waste of trees!

TO BE CONTINUED.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Louella Gets a Reprieve

Louella's mouth felt dry, and she headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Can't stay in the same room with my own sister, she fumed. She thinks she can just blow this burg and go to California and leave me holding the bag for Dad, huh? Louella slammed the refrigerator door and tossed ice cubes in a glass she'd picked up from the dishrack. Ick! she thought. Looks like it's never been washed with soap and water! She looked in a cabinet for a cleaner glass and found that all the dishes and glassware looked dingy. Then she held her hair back from her face and put her mouth under running water from the faucet.

Returning to the living room, Candy looked at Louella warily. "Sorry if I sounded like I wouldn't be watching your back with Dad," she hazarded. "But I really have been thinking about going to California, and now might be the right time. I'm not getting any younger, ya know."

"Younger? What planet are you on?" snapped Louella. "You're forty-eight big ones, Candy. Time you grew up!"

"Whoa, girl! Looks like menopause is getting the best of you! It's my life, okay? I can decide where to live. There's nothing to keep me here in this dump!"

"How about the free rent, huh? That's a good reason to stay in this so-called dump! And it wouldn't be such a dump if you cleaned it once in a while! I think the health department would be interested in having a look at the glasses in the kitchen!"

"Well, Dad needs something to do, Lou," Candy snapped. "If I do simple things like wash the dishes, he'll start feeling useless."

"Has it occurred to you that he can't see very well? And he can't read any more, have you noticed that? And I think he listens to the TV more than he actually watches it. You ought to be paying more attention!"

"So what are you now? A doctor? Dad's doing fine for his age, what with his diabetes and hypertension and all."

"Look, Dad's only sixty-eight! That's not so old these days. He should have a better quality of life than he's got. And now he might be—"

"—Dying? Come on, Lou, you're such an alarmist! Dad's going to be all right. You'll see!"

"Wishing don't make it so—remember that's what Mom used to tell us? But I sure do hope Dad's going to be okay, because I'm not in the mood to help you out. I've bailed you and Mason out of so many scrapes, and I think it's time I got a life of my own and let you take charge of Dad."

"Maybe I would have before if you hadn't kept showing up and poking your nose in our business!" Candy thumped the sofa cushion hard, and picked at something between her front teeth.

"I've just about had it with your attitude!" hissed Louella. "Did I mention to you that the reason I didn't ever move away was because I was worried about all of you?"

"Who asked you to stick around?" snapped Candy. "We can get along perfectly well without you. Just give us a chance, and we'll show you!"

The phone rang. It was between them on a side table, and neither reached for it at first. Finally Louella picked up the receiver. "Pryzbylewski residence."

"Is this Louella, daughter of Anton?" 

"Yes, this is she." Candy groaned at her sister's correct grammar, like she always did.

"This is Doctor Halloway. I just wanted to let you know that your Dad's ready to come home. We did a couple of tests, and it turns out he has cystitis without the usual symptoms." 

"Oooh! I'm so glad!" Louella sank into a chair. Now I can think about moving to California myself, she realized. Forget about running for the Baltimore City Council! I want out of this place!

TO BE CONTINUED.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Louella Breaks the News

Once her father was settled in his hospital room awaiting tests, Louella headed back to the family rowhouse overlooking Patterson Park to gather some of his things. She crept along in her venerable dark green Miata. Oh my God! she thought. Suppose somebody runs a red light and hits me? Suppose I'm distracted by all this and cause an accident? She felt like smacking herself to stop the panic. It's only a few blocks, she told herself. Get a grip! People get cancer every day—it's no big deal! Hot tears came and she batted them away.

Finally she got back to the house, eased into a parking space only three doors down, and went up the white marble steps and unlocked the door. There was her older sister Candy, lounging in front of the TV in her underwear, eating a bowl of cereal. "Hi, Lou," she said, not taking her eyes off the screen. "Where's dad? You guys were gone for a long while—I was beginning to get worried."

Louella resisted her usual impulse to be sarcastic. "He's been admitted to Hopkins," she blurted. "They think he might have bladder cancer."

"You're kidding me, right?" said Candy, finally looking at Louella. "He's been fine—never sick a day. It's probably nothing. You're such a worrier!"

"Well, it would be great if you were right," said Louella, "but it has to be checked. I've come to get together all Dad's meds, and make lists of his usual doctors, stuff like that. Can you help me out?"

"You kidding me? We might share the house, but I never go near Dad's things. You go ahead and do it—you're better at organizing than I am, you know that."

And you're better at running away from responsibility, thought Louella, who surprised herself by snapping,"You know, Candy, I can't do everything, and I don't want to do everything. You live here for free, and he's your father too, and I have to go back to work on Monday, so you're going to have to pull your weight on this."

Candy's blue eyes grew wide with shock. "All right, all right. Don't have a cow. I'll help. Just tell me what to do. I've never seen you this way before. You going through the change or something?"

"This has nothing to do with that," retorted Louella. "I'm just not going to handle this alone. This sounds like it could be really hard, and you know how squeamish I am."

"I'm squeamish too! Remember how I always got Mom to change Mason's diapers?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. You really took advantage of Mom. She was a softie and you knew it. But this time one of us might have to help Dad change his diapers or empty his bags of urine, and I don't want that person to be me. You're here most of the time and I'm not, so the way I see it, this is going to be more on you than on me."

"I can't believe this!" said Candy, adding a little too quickly, "I think I must've forgotten to tell you that I've been thinking about moving to San Diego."

"Oh no, you don't!" said Louella. "You're staying right here and you're going to take primary responsibility, and that's that." She said it as forcefully as she could, but deep down she felt fear.

TO BE CONTINUED.




Saturday, September 6, 2008

Louella Looks Down the Barrel of a Gun

Louella was roused from a fitful sleep by noises in the kitchen below her girlhood bedroom. She knew it wasn't her sister Candy, in the adjacent tiny bedroom, who would be sleeping until noon after tending bar late. Must be Dad already, thought Louella, checking her Swatch watch. Only six o'clock. Geez! She remembered she'd said she'd take her father to the emergency room because of his disturbing symptoms. Lying there, she began to think more clearly. This isn't going to be treated like an emergency, she realized. They'll probably have us wait for hours while they deal with the real emergencies. Maybe we should just go see a doctor.

Pulling on the thick white terry robe that bulked out her frail physique, Louella touched up her enhanced auburn curls and headed downstairs. "Glad you're up, Lou!" said her father in too hearty a voice. "Nice day today, they say! Here, have some coffee!" He put a steaming mug in front of her, knowing she never ate breakfast, and settled across from her with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and buttered toast. Louella resisted commenting that this wasn't what he should be eating. He might be really sick, she thought. Why spoil what might be his last good day? From the living room, she could hear the TV weatherman promising good weather.

"Dad, I've been thinking that we ought to just go to a urologist for a checkup. The waiting time at the E.R. might be really long."

"Hell, it can't be as long a wait as what it would be to get an appointment at the doctor's office! Last time I went to see Dr. Kumara it took three months to get in."

"Well, maybe you'll get in faster if you explain the symptoms."

"What—you sayin' I might have something really wrong?"

"Well, I thought I made that pretty clear by suggesting the E.R. last night."

"Hey, it's just some infection or something. I'll just mix me up the usual fix, and it'll be fine."

"The 'usual fix'? What's that?"

"Something your mother used to do when she had problems down there. You mix a couple of tablespoons of baking soda into a cup of warm water and swill it down."

"That's awful!" said Louella, shuddering. "I can't believe you'd do that."

"Hey, listen—back in those days we sometimes didn't have health insurance, and didn't have extra money for a doctor, so you did what you had to do."

"Well, now you have Medicare, so you can get the treatment you need, and get a professional look-over."

Her father gave her a dour look. "You seem to think Medicare's the be-all and end-all, Lou. Not so. I've got me the Part A, and they deduct for Part B, but I can't afford the whatchacall 'gap insurance,' so I still get bills I have to pay. Plus which I've already maxed out my Part D drug assistance for all that hypertension and cholesterol business, and now I'm in that doughnut thing where I have to pay it all. I hate to lay things out to you this way, but I think you need to know my situation before you get on your high horse about me 'going to the doctor.' Sometimes there's more pain in paying the bills, see? Do you know how much you have to pay just for an antibiotic?"

"Not really, but I know it's tough, Dad! Remember how I used to get Mom's meds from Mexico and Canada?"

He chuckled. "Yep! Sure do! That was really ballsy of you, I've gotta admit—flying out there and all. Saved us thousands of dollars, you did. But I don't have thousands of dollars now, I just want you to understand, and apparently neither do you. So I'd just as soon let this problem work itself out on its own, if it's all right with you, Little Missy."

"I don't know, Dad. This symptom might be nothing important, but it could be a symptom of something really serious." Louella eyed the clock on the stove; it was nearly 7:30. "Tell you what, Dad, let's go to the E.R. after all. I can go with you now, but not after I go back to work next week. Just humor me, okay?"

Her father stirred his coffee a moment. "Well, okay, I'll go if it'll make you happy."

From the living room, a news announcer was reporting on the upcoming presidential election. Louella heard the name "Sarah Palin," and she was amazed at how her hackles went up. Here I am with a much better education than she's got, and just a small condo to keep clean, and only my father to look after sometimes, and a low-stress job, and I can barely hold things together! Either there's something wrong with me, or there's something wrong with her, or something more's going on that we don't know about, she mused, trying to repress her resentment. Or is is jealousy? she wondered. Nah! I wouldn't want her life, no way! Louella made her way around the overstuffed furniture obstacle course to the TV remote by her father's recliner, and clicked it off. I don't need this aggravation right now, she thought.

Within 30 minutes, Louella and her father were at the Johns Hopkins E.R., which wasn't yet that crowded. In only a half-hour, they were conferring with a young resident, giving her father's medical history and describing the symptom. The doctor looked concerned. "This could be nothing a good antibiotic wouldn't cure," she said. "But it could be something more serious. I'm going to have your father admitted for some tests."

"Tests?" said her father. "Like what kind of tests?"

"Sir, you've been experiencing this problem off and on for several months. It would have been best to have come in right away, but now that you're here, we have to move quickly to rule out cancer."

Louella's father blanched. He stared at the far distance. Louella said, "What do I need to do?" Her voice shook, betraying her anxiety and annoying her at the same time. Be strong! she exhorted herself. Don't let Dad know you're worried! 

"You two just wait here and the admissions people will come by to get your information, and then they'll take you to a room as soon as it's ready," said the doctor, shaking their hands with surprising sincerity as she parted the curtain and left.

This can't be happening! Louella thought. He's only sixty-eight, for crying out loud! Her father sat on the side of the gurney, in his thin dressing gown, looking stunned and maybe a little embarrassed. Louella felt a strong urge to run and never come back. Then she burst into tears.

TO BE CONTINUED.  

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Louella Gets a Wake-Up Call

Louella's dad clicked off the Republican convention. "Enough of all that stuff!" he said, rising from his recliner chair with difficulty. "I already know who's got my vote anyhow!" He tottered a bit and steadied himself on the coffee table. "Oops! Easy does it!" he joked, as his face grew red.

"Dad!" said Louella, rousing herself from making "to do" lists for her planned run for the Baltimore City Council. "Are you okay? You look kind of strange."

"Nothing Medicare won't cover!" he said. "I've been having a little trouble lately, but I ’spect it'll clear up directly."

"Well, what kind of trouble? You can't let things go too long without going to the doctor. You know that! Mom would've wanted you to take care of yourself!"

"Yeah, yeah. But remember how long it took your mom to get herself looked at. She wouldn't have a lot of room to talk right now."

"Well, Dad, come on—what kind of symptoms are you having?"

"I don't rightly want to say. It's private." He stood up straight, hand against the small of his back. Boy, he's really gained a lot of weight, thought Louella. I should have noticed before!

"So come on, Dad. You can tell me. I've heard everything before."

Her father looked away, then looked back at her. "Well, I've been bleeding," he said, voice a little weak.

"Bleeding? From where?"

"You know."

"Well, since it's not something I can see, I can only think of two places. So which one is it?"

Pause. "The Number One."

"Well, tell you what, Dad! You're going to the emergency room right now!"

"No, no, no! It comes and goes. I'll deal with it in my own time. Let's go to bed now."

Boy, he's so lucky he has Medicare, thought Louella, mentally calculating how much treatment would cost if she, without health insurance, had the same symptoms. But does he have Part B, and that gap insurance? Suddenly she felt like a very bad daughter. I ought to know all this, she scolded herself. It's inexcusable for me to not know.

Then she thought, It's inexcusable that I don't have health insurance myself. That Sarah Palin, I bet she has health insurance, and her family too, and she gets it through the government, but I bet she has no use for the government when it comes to people like me! Hell, the whole state of Alaska's been on the dole forever. Louella stopped herself from fuming.

"Okay, Dad, we'll go there tomorrow. I'll take you, okay?"

"All right, Lou. If you say so." Louella knew immediately that her father was worried. Good thing I decided to take my week's vacation here with him, she thought. Not to mention I couldn't afford to go anywhere else.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Louella Puts Her Hat in the Ring

Louella watched the Republican convention in fascinated horror. Wow, I thought I was conservative once, she thought, but never like this. These people are hard-core Stepford Wives types. She glanced at her 75-year-old father snoozing in his recliner, checking to see if he was paying attention. He'd dozed off. 

Louella remembered how, nearly 25 years ago, she had come home from her P.R. job in New York just to vote in the national election, intending to cancel out her father's vote for Reagan. This year I'll be cancelling his vote again, she realized with a start. You'd think he'd have figured out what side he ought to be on, but he thinks it's smart or classy or something to stick with the same brand. As if Republicans are the same brand now as they were back in 1984! Geez, I never thought I'd miss Reagan! 

The TV screen flickered. And there she was: Sarah Palin, John McCain's running mate. Not bad looking, Louella grudgingly admitted. Bet she's taller than McCain, too, but they won't show that. She turned up the volume and watched the pretty mouth of the candidate spew the usual platitudes. Oh great! she thought. People will just look at her and see her read her lines well and not even think about what she's saying. Then she had a thought: I'm better educated than she is—I have an M.B.A for crying out loud! And I have much more experience. I've kept my figure and my plastic surgery's still good—I could do this too!

Louella considered whether her East Baltimore roots would be a plus or minus. Her straw-blonde sister Candy, now a bartender in Fell's Point, was sort of respectable now, and her prostitution misdemeanors were in Pennsylvania, under her fake name, so nobody's going to be the wiser. Mason, Candy's high school dropout son, worked as a drywall finisher, and his drug offenses when a juvenile weren't going to be found. Mason and his girlfriend had a daughter, but thanks to Palin that was no barrier either. I'm Catholic, thought Louella, and that used to be dicey, but now that Bush and Cheney gave such a big welcome to the Pope when he was here, that's got to be behind us. Her parents' neighbors were black, another plus.

What would get me noticed? Louella wondered. I'm sort of a celebrity, she realized. I was the star of a newspaper satire for 20 years. That should count for something. Should I go by my real name or by Eleanor Preston? Pryzbylewski has a nice ethnic ring, but who can spell it?
 
She scribbled lists of questions and pros and cons. I'm going to have to get a political consultant, she realized. I've got to get positioned and get some press, and find out what players might want me. She noticed her hand was trembling. This is so exciting! she thought. I think, after all this time, I'm finally going to be somebody important! And just in time, too, because my Lottery income's going to be running out in a few years.
 
Louella's father stirred and opened his eyes. He focused them on Sarah Palin. "Would you look at that set of gams!" he marveled. "She'd sure be easy to look at for the next four years."


"Dad, she's a total lightweight as far as experience is concerned. Why would you want somebody like her just a heartbeat from the presidency?"

"Ahh, come on, Lou! Everybody knows the president doesn't run this country. Special interests run it. It's all just for show, like in England. So why shouldn't we have a good-looking woman on the job? She sure beats looking at McCain!"
 
Louella knew it was usual to argue about politics with her father. She went back to her lists. Maybe I should publish a book of all the columns that featured my life, she mused. I could give it away when I make public appearances. People always remember somebody who gave them something for nothing. Over 20 years of Louella's exploits had been published in the Baltimore Chronicle (still published, but online only now). She'd saved them all. They prove I really did stuff, she thought. And I can cut the ones that make me look bad.
 
"Dad, haven't you seen enough of this? It's way past your bedtime."
 
"This is history, Hon."
 
You think this is history? Louella grumped to herself. Wait until you see you own little girl on that stage! She made a note: "Run for City Council." That should be easy enough, she thought. Who wants to do that? It would be like wanting to be mayor of some podunk little town in Alaska. Can't be all that much competition. You have to be kinda nuts to do this. She smiled at her reflection in the TV screen and wagged her foot.

TO BE CONTINUED.