Dear Folks, I just had to share with you my untypical day today. In the first place I had an ordinary clinic appointment up at the VA Hospital in Buffalo but since it's a 30-mile drive and my gas tank was running low I left the house early so that I could fuel up at Smokin Joe's on the local Indian Reservation. Although the temperature was in the mid 30s there was a brisk wind and I dreaded filling up the tank myself and then have to try to figure out how to use my credit card at the pump to pay for it in the first place. But the minute I drove up to the gas pump a pleasant local Indian (OK, Native American) came up to my window and asked if he could help. I told him that he was a God Send and handed him my credit card and asked him to fill the car up with the "cheap stuff." He did that chearfully and when he asked if I wanted a receipt and I told him yes, he had to go back to the office to have one made out for me because the one at the pump wasn't working. I was so grateful for the service he had given me that I wanted to tip him but I knew that all that I had in my wallet were 2 one dollar bills and some change and I was faced with bridge tolls to and from Buffalo. Savoring the feeling of his generous pleasant service I headed off to Buffalo. I found an empty parking space in the parking lot close to the hospital (that will never happen again!), checked into the clinic on time and soon I heard Dr. Finklestein's voice booming out "Vee Housman!" Frankly I was surprised that he didn't add to the announcement that I'm from Town of Porter because I've been going to him for close to 15 years and he has a wierd sense of humor. His routine treatment and assessment took only about 15 minutes and all the while we joked with each other as usual. However, when he checked my chart on the computer he noticed that I hadn't filled out my Means Test and ordered me to get it filled out immediately and pointed me to the precise office where they would help me. Well every year and every year I dread filling out the annual Means Test. It's a very confusing form to fill out but I obeyed his order and eventually saw Carol who helped me fill it out even though I didn't have a good handle on what my income was back in 2002. BTW, a Means Test is to determine if a veteran's total income either exceeds or is under the set limit of how much the veteran has to pay for visits to the doctors, how much (if any) his co-pay is for prescriptions and the like. And with magic fingers at Carol's computer, she filled out my Means Test and I'm still good for another year. More than that, she was such a caring person that she asked me if I had ever considered reapplying for an update on my service connected dissabilities. Oh boy did she hit on a nerve! The bottom line was yes indeedy! Sparing you the details she gave me the phone number of Tracy who would review my particular case with compassion and I'll call her tomorrow. Moving right along, I had a particular reason to speak with a pharmacist but I had to take a number. While I sat there waiting for my number to come up I got into a conversation with another veteran about my age and he told me about what happened that afternoon when he had to go to the Emergency Clinic. He had to take all of his clothes off and put on a hospital gown but that the attendant apparently just rolled up all of his clothes in a ball and set them aside. When he put his clothes back on and reached into his pants pocked for the 60 cents that he had there for his bus fare back home, it had disappeared. When I realized that he didn't have the bus fare to get back home I told him that I certainly had $.60 in my wallet to give him. He replied that he wasn't a begger. I responded that he hadn't begged in the least and that I was the one who was offering it to him. After a battle of the wits he finally accepted the $.60. We talked a bit more regarding his and my families and when he left to go home he leaned down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I responded by saying, "Now THAT was worth $.60!" We parted as understanding caring individuals. It was a good feeling between both of. I know I'm drawing this out but you know me, the story won't end until the story ends. I got home in time to start preparing dinner. It was a special dinner. My niece Deb suggested that she and her mother (my sister Norma) come over to my house this evening and Deb and I would prepare our now-famous Chicken Cacciatori dinner with Pasta Pesto. I did my thing with my ingredients and she did her thing with her ingredients. Of course Deb had to outdo herself by making a hot sweet and sour bacon dressing for the salad! While Deb and I worked side by side at the kitchen counter, the three of us shared what was going on with our lives. Primarily, Norma updated me on her immediate plans to fly off to Utah this coming Wednesday to get married in the Mormon Temple in Ogden in what I still feel is a Cinderella wedding. For heavens sakes, both she and the groom are 78 years old! Deb shared what she was going through regarding her 18-wheeler trucking business and I updated them on my own personal life. After we all did the dishes and put the rest of the leftovers away Deb gave me a big hug and told me she loved me and my sister gave me an even bigger hug which was more emotional but with no words said. We both knew that she was moving to Utah on a permanent basis and we really didn't know if we would ever see each other again. As I said, it certainly wasn't a typical day for me. vee