Is this More of the Same?
Sun., January 1, 05:58 PM
Just a little more than a month ago, I explained the confusion of choosing a Medicare prescription plan. I enrolled both Husband and myself – separately, of course – because our needs are not quite the same.
Shortly thereafter, we each received a confirmation letter that gave us our identification numbers. They were correct, and everything seemed fine. We could use these letters at the pharmacy until formal ID cards arrived. Two weeks later, the cards arrived. Husband’s card is made out to Mrs. Husband.
Well, I understand how this might have happened. When I sign his medical documents for him, I usually sign “Mrs. Husband [authorized signature] or something like that. But, as I said, the confirmation letter was correct; someone was not paying attention to what s/he was typing. I would have to phone them.
It took four phone calls – two days – before I reached someone with a pulse. The automated answer said they had been swamped, they were extending the calling hours, and please call another time. Not even “…your call is important to us, so please wait for the next available…” Just call later, or perhaps try the web site. The web site was, oh, so helpful; it gave me the telephone number. Everything they had was for people who were calling at the eleventh hour to enroll.
The person who answered the phone didn’t know what I was talking about; she had been taught to enroll clients, and had no idea what to do with me. She put me back into the phone system; it was another half hour before I got the error corrected. The last woman I talked to was very polite and apologetic about the problem. I guess it was a half hour well spent, but I have more faith in my personal pharmacist than I do in the insurance company.
So let me talk about sometime entirely different. Tonight we light the final candle for Hanukkah this year. It’s one of those things I seem to have been doing forever.
I remember my dad lighting the candles in a tin hanukiyah, a cheap candleholder the synagogues gave away during the Depression so that no one would be too poor to light candles. Some years later my parents received a beautiful golden menorah with a square look to it; after one lighted the candles, the music box in the bottom would play “Maoz Tzur,” the traditional song we sing afterward. M.D. has that menorah now.
When Husband and I got married, the stores were pushing the “Israeli look,” avant-guard shapes and turquoise insets in some dark metal. I wanted a traditional menorah. My sister found one for me, and all the years my kids were growing up, that was the Hanukkah menorah in our house. I gave it to Son for his own house after I bought another that appealed to me. Mine is shaped like a dove, with the individual candle cups lined up on the wings.
Lighting the Hanukkah candles is a joyful yet solemn ceremony. In my memories, presents were not a part of the candle lighting, even though we certainly received Hanukkah gifts. The fun of the gifts, or of playing “dreidl,” are separate.
Anyhow, we still light the candles in our home, even though we have no children here. U.D. joins me, and Husband sort of sings along, remembering his childhood (though he hasn’t much voice left). The other night we were about halfway through when a fourth voice joined us: “meow, meow, meow.” U.D.’s cat does not like to be ignored.
Now I’m having trouble singing without laughing.
Happy New Year to you all.
