A visionary is a person who is surrounded by others who can’t see. It seemed like that the other day at the Pembroke Regional Hospital while I was there.
It was a pleasant mid-morning so far, not yet too hot. I was driving Sheila to a doctor’s appointment in Tower C at the PRH. Letting her out close to its entrance, I then headed to the main parking lot.
I returned to the elevator in Tower C and to the third floor. I scanned the row of instructions not noticing a button to open the door which seemed odd. I decided to walk to the waiting room, where two women were chatting and asked how to get to the 3rd floor.
One was more than willing to be helpful and said ,”Follow me.” Back down the hall, past the elevator that wasn’t functional, past the Pharmacy and nearly to the entrance to Tower B. “Turn right at the next corner until you reach the elevators.”
I was a little skeptical but did as she said and took a ride to the 3rd floor. It was a quiet ward with all staff busy at terminals and no clamoring for help from the patients rooms. I walked around the perimeter looking for the entrance to Tower C with no luck. Finally someone came and explained that I should go back to the elevator in Tower C where I was in the first place.
I did so while mumbling expletives under my breath. Finally at the elevator again, I did notice the button this time but feeling like an idiot as well, pushed it and up to the 3rd floor as smoothly as an EV automobile. I was there just minutes before Sheila finished with her visit.
She went one direction and I headed for the parking payment station. Yes, I did have my ticket with me and shoved into the slot to initiate payment. It was for $7. I tapped my debit card a few times without a hit. I noticed a button for a lost ticket, pushed it and a voice said, “I see the charge for $7 so go the parking lot exit and I’ll let you through.”
I did and pushed the help button there and the gates opened. Back to pick up Sheila and onto the Pet Value store. I felt something in my shirt pocket. It was the lost ticket. I figured saving the seven bucks was compensation for the runaround I had to endure.
A few Friday nights ago, I experienced danger lurking at the ballfield. I have been walking every evening since early January – same time and route.
About 9:15 pm I head out. At Gore Line at the Vee I cut across to Recreation Street passing the ball field, then turn right to continue between the firehall and the cenotaph, to Main Street and back home.
During the warm weather, on Friday nights only, a couple of dozen or more young adults gather at the ball field diamond, pick teams and take part in softball game. It makes me wish I was 40-years-younger as I would have joined in.
Things were well in hand and rules generally followed. That is until Friday evening, August 13th. The first foul ball ever that I noticed go over the fence landed near where I was. I followed its path into the ditch but couldn’t see it. Giving the approximate spot to someone with a I-phone light, there it was. Nearing the end of that fence, another ball dropped too near me for comfort. While walking by the firehall and cenotaph, on the safe side of the outfield fence, I stopped a few times at the crack of the bat, to be certain I wasn’t the target. I was nearly out of range when a baseball substituted for a softball was struck by the batter.
The well-hit baseball cleared the fence, one-hopped before it crashed into the firehall building with a loud whack, then rolled to where I was now standing stationary – too shocked to move. I picked up the ball and returned it to one of the outfielders pleading for its return.
I just said, “If I was; a few seconds earlier, that ball might have hit me on the noggin.” Next Friday, I will be more alert and wear a hockey helmet.
For all those who moved to the Ottawa Valley for peace and quiet – it isn’t always so.
