telephone marketers

     You almost certainly do not read blogs like this one.  But on the off chance that some of you do, here are some tips.

1.  If you are begging for money, selling me phony oil stocks or trying to do business with me, I am not "Steven" and especially not "Hey Steve."
1.a If you do not know me, you may address me as Mr. Lopata
1.b If you know of me, you may address me as Dr. Lopata
1.c If you know my career, you may address me as Col. Lopata

2.   Pressure tactics result in having the telephone hung up.

3.  There is only one response to telephoned charitable requests, that response is "no."

Write me a letter.

salmon and cream cheese

Ever since I was introduced to a bagel with lox and cream cheese, I have been a fan of the combination.  In some places, you can buy a premixed product from Philadelphia, but not here in Little Rock.  So I played around with it and came up with a recipe that seems to do the trick.  Oh yes, good bagels are very thin on the ground here too.  Nothing to do about that.

Ingredients:
3 oz. smoked salmon
1/4 cup chopped green onions
1 12 oz. tub Philadelphia cream cheese

Instructions:
     Mince the salmon together with the chopped green onions.
     Mix the salmon and cream cheese together thoroughly.  Chill.

Pretty simple.  The secret is to mince the salmon very fine so it mixes with the onion and then the cream cheese.  I like it.

The Strange Ones

Working at the River Market in Little Rock, you run into characters.   Some are rather fun; others you wonder if they should be out on their own.  But then there are the tragic, strange ones.

Some of the fun characters have been the mime who situated himself in white face on a raised platform and scared the heck out of passers-by who weren't paying attention.  There are the dog lovers who take (or carry) their furry friends to market.  Almost all of these canines are delightful and well behaved.  At least one of the Master Gardeners who work with me at our clinic can not resist coming out and kissing the nicest of these.

Of course, the children are fun to watch too.  In the rain, they stomp through the puddles or jump into the middle of them.   They drop leaves or pieces of paper into the flowing puddles and follow their makeshift boats to the sewer drains.  The goggle at the large fruits or relax patiently in their strollers as their parents shop and pass time with friends.  The walking littles are sometimes not so patient; and that's amusing too.

We have our share of musicians who stake out approved corners.  They play their different tunes.  One couple plays excellent island music.  They appear too seldom for my taste.  But there are other farmer's markets and venues for them to play.  There is a family group (young girls) who play a variety of instruments.  They play them very well and their repertoire is very much to my taste.  Yesterday, a lone folk singer with guitar was at our corner.   She used no amplification so most of what she sang was inaudible to us.  Occasionally, a lone music student will stand with open instrument case, playing exercises, usually not well.  Happily, these don't last long.

We have our share of petition signature petitioners.  But they usually haunt the center of the Market, where they can waylay more people.   They petition for everything from statewide prohibition to medical marijuana or casino gambling.  If I can get away from the clinic, it's fun to listen to their spiels.  Most of them are quite sincere, but there are a few who obviously are reciting from a script.

A recent, welcome addition to the Market is a stall at which restaurant chefs can strut their stuff and give out free samples.  These are mostly made from the things they buy at the River Market.  Most of the time they are delicious.  But I have to skip all the sweets because of my diabetes.

Itinerant preachers occasionally wander through, handing out tracts.  Sometimes they are pathetically happy to stop for a while and talk about Jesus or whatever.   Because of our geographic location, it's mostly Jesus.

Then there are the sad ones.  The first one I met had been with the Fourth Infantry Division and in Vietnam at the same time I was.   He was suffering from PTSD and the stall keepers had been feeding him for weeks before we met.  It had been twenty years.  His health had deteriorated seriously and his mental state was slightly confused.  My coworkers and I did our best for him until I made the mistake of mentioning that I could get his records straightened out at the VA and get him some medical care.  He spooked.  The next time we held the clinic, one of the other homeless guys told me that he had left town, afraid that if the VA got ahold of him, he would be institutionalized.

Yesterday, we were approached by a normal looking man.   He wanted to talk about a horrendous accident he'd had and how his faith had pulled him through.  He maundered on for about half an hour and when we had to pack up, he latched onto one of our members.  Her husband was meeting her, so she stayed out in the open and listened while I shopped for veggies.   When I returned, he had left.

I've also run into a nice, talkative guy who, from the gossip used to be a music producer.  According to the story one of the club managers told me, he had been mugged, hit in the head and not been right since.  But he is a sweet tempered guy with lots of great stories to tell.  Apparently, he still has an apartment in downtown and someone to look after him.

These people are the forgotten.  I can not forget them.

I might post some photos one of these days.