Sadie Applebee

SADIE APPLEBEE,  a Librarian

Wynnefield Library

Philadelphia, PA

1964

She was short, squatty, pleasantly plumb as my father would describe fat people he liked. Her dress was also plain: a skirt, a blouse and a sweater, no matter what time of year it was.  She wore sensible shoes and heavy nylon stocking. She roamed the library with a feistiness that demanded everyone’s attention.  

We were shhhed at the first utterance of a sound.  We were warned if we spoke again and then thrown out of the library if it happened a third time.  Those of us who returned books late were publically shamed.  There were never any personal interactions, just library matters were discussed.  And while I never really liked this woman, I will also be grateful to her for introducing me to the wonderful adventures of Ramona and Beverly Clearly.

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Mayan Caves

Mayan Caves

Belize City, Belize

MONDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2004

My driver picks me up at my hotel. He drives  a 1980 beaten up, old 4x4 Jeep with a big, red canoe.  Our first stop is a butterfly farm.  We got there first because it is sunny today. If it is rainy, the butterflies do not fly around.  The farm is owned by a German woman and run by several Latino women.  The environment is pleasant and very quiet and I wonder what it would be like to work in such a peaceful environment.  The air feels great.  It is cool and light and breezy.  The temperature is perfect. The farm is nestled against the outskirts of a forest.  I think this environment is nicer than what the butterflies are used to in the wild.

I hook up with a tour of 12 Mennonites which really took me by surprise. What are they doing out here sightseeing?  They need to be on the farm, working and growing food for the rest of the world.  Some of them speak German.  Some speak English and some speak both languages.  They all look exactly the same and they treat me with nervousness because of our differences.

I am introduced to several species of butterflies. They flew freely over us, around us and on us. We are not to touch them.  But we are not to brush them off if they land on us.  I want all of them to land on me.

After the farm visit, the driver drives me through the Mennonite community.  I feel as if I was right back in Lancaster County, PA.  Most of them are farmers but some of them make furniture.  They are allowed to smoke and drink but they do not drive cars.

We drive further up the mountain to the Benton Creek Cave.  My guide pulls the canoe off the top of his giant vehicle and he loads it with one life jacket for me, a paddle for each of us, two car batteries and two large flashlights.  He drops the canoe in the water and offers his hand to help me in the front of the canoe. With no agility or finesse, I plop into the canoe.  This lack of any flexibility, on my part, makes my driver nervous.

We are the only ones on the river and he paddles to a nearby cave.  As we enter the cave, some people paddles out. We wave quietly to each other. So once they are gone, I am completely at the mercy of this man with the paddles, the car batteries and the big flashlights.  I hope I am giving him good vibes.  I am going to have to be very agreeable.

He shows me different types of rock formations.  He shows me where the Maya Indians would hold their ceremonies.  And he tells me that it is believed that they made animal and human sacrifices in this cave.  The human sacrifices focused on cutting off a finger or two in exchange for being granted a good harvest for the season.

It would seem to me that if you cut off your finger for one season, you would definitely start out at a disadvantage the next season.  For the rest of this trip, I sat on my hands.  And I count twice on the way out to make sure I had all ten of my fingers with me.

I feel calm in the cave.  All I can hear is the methodical dripping of water from the ceiling.  We spot numerous bat holes but even the bats did not bother me. We glide through the water for a while and then we had to turn back.  At one point, the guide asks me to turn off my flashlight as he did the same.  I worry for a second about human sacrifices.   But then I become aware of the level of darkness.  My eyes never adjust to the darkness and you could have spun me around and I would never have found my way out.

He instructs me to turn the flashlight back on and now the whole cave seemed luminous.  I wonder how the Maya people were able to get through this cave with their limited sources of light.  And what did they do if there was a draft that extinguished their torches.  At any one time, there could be 4000 of them in the cave for a particular ceremony.  How would you get them out, particular after a few fingers and hands had been cut off?

As we near the entrance, of the cave, my guide asks me to extinguish my flashlight again.  And again we are in total darkness.  He wants me to leave the cave in the same way the Maya did.  They would just sit in their canoes and let the current drift them out to the mouth of the cave. And so we did too, leaving behind the frightening darkness and entering a world full of glaring sunlight.

Cricket

CRICKET

Darwin, Australia

February 2015

International Cricket Competition

The last couple of days, I’ve spent several afternoons watching the world cricket tournament and I must say, it is a very slow game.  It’s a lot like baseball, but with a lot less going on.  I see a lot of men running around and throwing the ball to a man with a large, flat paddle.  There are referees with big hats who spend a lot of time talking to each other.  The crowd sits quietly and stays polite. But I don’t see much more than that.

Today I am in a bar with several men from India.  They are on the edge of their seats. The Indian team is playing the national team from Afghanistan.  The fact that Afghanistan even has a national team is enough to occupy all of my thoughts at the moment.  How did this Middle Eastern country get sucked into this boring British game?

But one of my bar mates turns to me and says, “This game is so exciting. Don’t you agree, Madame?”

I don’t see it or feel it and I am somewhat surprised when the game is put on hold for a tea break. WTF.  A tea break???  I don’t know how long the break last because I take this gesture as my queue to move on to other things that hold my interest.

Two to Four, Six to Eight

Two to Four, Six to Eight

My Grandfather's Work Schedule
Philadelphia, PA
1946

Forever, my father claimed that Doc worked from 2 to 4 and then 6 to 8; not a minute before and not a minute later.  My father described Doc as a person who didn’t like the field of medicine. He didn’t like to work and he didn’t seem to like people all that much, with the exception of his immediate family, of course.

He was described by my uncle as intolerant of anyone who violated these limited hours. As people interrupted his dinner at 5:00PM because of a broken leg or a severed foot or other emergencies, he would slam down his napkin and ask “Cant a man eat in peace”?  Doc would describe them all as inconsiderate, selfish, and thoughtless.  

How dare they interfere with his dinner. Doc, my grandfather, once told my father, “If you ever go into medicine, become a dermatologist.  They don’t have emergencies.  They don’t get interrupted at home”.

And so Doc’s working hours became a family joke.  Two to four, six to eight would become our mantra to describe the prefect work schedule.  You could sleep in every day; get up and run errands; work a little bit; have dinner with your family and then go back to you office, right off the kitchen and just tidy up a few things in the office and then call it a day.

Not a bad life and he thought so too.  In a letter he wrote to my grandmother in 1946, he tells her, “I earned $42 this week, not a bad salary.”

How different the doctor’s world is today.  Liability insurance, health insurance, professional dues, HIPPA regulations, etc. all pose problems for doctors which force them to work longer, billable hours in each and every day possible. How can a doctor practice today without an exhaustion that makes it nearly impossible to cultivate a quality of life outside of work?

I was thinking of how my grandfather would survive in today’s world of medicine.  And as I was fumbling through all sorts of family memorabilia recently, I found my immunization sheet.  Doc had given me the injections.  And today, as I reflected on my gratitude to him for keeping me healthy, I noticed his letterhead.  He worked even less hours than we had thought.  He only worked an hour after dinner.  Now that is a man to be admired.

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