When I read a novel about a heroic woman, it fills me with pride. Even though it is historical fiction, these things did happen, just a different name or city or country. The Physicians Daughter is a historical fiction written by Martha Conway. Ms. Conway is Cleveland born, now living in San Francisco, where I also lived (on the Bay side) just 12 years ago. Of course, I was a transplant from Columbus and moved to the Bay Area after having lived in California for a couple of decades. I loved this book because it is filled with all the good things you want in a novel. For us history buffs, it takes place post-Civil War. It appears that Ms. Conway has done an incredible amount of research about the details of not just the war but also about being a doctor and many other things that occur in this…
In memory of my step/adopt father, Antal Végh, who came to this country in 1956, at the age of 19 and died only eight days before the 40th anniversary.
What would my dad say now, if he saw the country he escaped to in 1956, to have freedom, in the wake of communism in Hungary? I wonder what he would think of his daughter, standing in line at Kroger, in New Albany, Ohio, for thirty minutes around 8pm because they only had one cashier. No more “Three’s a Crowd,” customer service rules there (from a long ago commercial). An impromptu and unplanned demonstration, you might say, was going on with those of us in line. We refused to use self-service because most of us were in our 50’s and 60’s and understood what self-service meant. We lived through having the luxury of gas station attendants who washed our windows and changed our oil for free. What started with one lane for “self-serve” at a gas station went to all self-serve and people in a kiosk who couldn’t care less about your car.
I had the unfortunate experience the other night, while at the same Kroger’s dealing with an angry kiosk employee. I had rapped on the window because I kept saying hello and she didn’t answer. I peered through the window around the corner and saw her standing there, out of view. When she got to the window she replied “You didn’t need to tap on the window.” I replied that I had tried calling out and she did not respond. Kroger Fuel will not accept Master Card, so I have to go to the kiosk to pay. I know what happens to pin numbers at the pump, by ne’re-do-wells. So, what would my dad say to my having to stand in line for food? He refused to go to any restaurant, when he was alive, if there was a line. This is because, in Hungary, he remembered food lines and would never approach one ever again.