...when the caregiver/daughter left late in the afternoon to go back to Decatur and tend to her own little family. I knew I would be ok, and sent her on her way to nurse on the disabled at home. She reported the alarm was set to remind me to take meds. in a timely manner for pain relief.
I took drugs before I went to sleep about 10, after reading a while in bed. And had very vivid, awful, horrible, scarey dreams. Frighteningly realistic, and gruesome. When the alarm woke me, much to my relief, I thought maybe the crazy brain activity was due to high-powered pain Rx. And decided I've had enough freaky stuff in my head, so I'm already back to OTC industrial-strength generic tylenol. It is remotely possible that I could, might, maybe consider taking it at some time in the future: but that overnight experience has likely cured me.
Though I still have some weeks of recovery from hand surgery ahead, I hope to manage decreasing discomfort with over-the-counter pain meds. After bizarre technicolor stuff inside my skull overnight, I feel like I am done with high-powered Rx. I might not be 100% well, but almost certainly cured from ever taking class IV drugs again. Too strange for me!
Saturday, October 28, 2017
surgery...
...can't say for sure, as I don't know. I do not remember a thing. Cannot confirm it happened. I know the doc routinely comes out to speak to family members afterward, so I will just have to assume he did what we agreed upon. Daughter, who was present, said the Doogie-Houser-looking surgeon reported having talked to me in the OR, but did not expect I would not recall anything. They may have just rolled me in that room with all the equipment on carts and bright lights to install a tracking device. Or a micro- chip like vets do, so anyone who finds me wandering will know who to contact in order to call off the search.
The arm looks to me just like it did before I was wheeled away, splint and ace bandage appear to be unchanged. There is orange betadine staining ends of appendages left exposed, but otherwise, no visible improvements. Upon discharge about 3:00, I was rolled out the door and provided with 'do's and don'ts', instructional material from the surgeon. There was also a narrow strip of paper, about 3 inches by 12, with pictures. Two photos each of' 'before' and 'after', showing the interior of my hand before repair, and then after the extra parts were installed.
The arm looks to me just like it did before I was wheeled away, splint and ace bandage appear to be unchanged. There is orange betadine staining ends of appendages left exposed, but otherwise, no visible improvements. Upon discharge about 3:00, I was rolled out the door and provided with 'do's and don'ts', instructional material from the surgeon. There was also a narrow strip of paper, about 3 inches by 12, with pictures. Two photos each of' 'before' and 'after', showing the interior of my hand before repair, and then after the extra parts were installed.
pre-surgery...
...over and done. Good as new? Not yet, but optimistically headed in that direction as it will take time, and ample drugs to get me back up to speed. Nothing I cannot tolerate as long as the industrial strength pain killers hold out.
After going to do the pre-registration paperwork a week ago, I was told to expect a call on the day before surgery that would inform about time to arrive for pre-op. The part where they take your clothes away, so you can't escape when you have a change of heart. The call came on Wed. morning for me to appear at 9 a.m. on Thurs. But then another one, a recorded message into voice mail after regular business hours, told of 'appointment with Dr. at 12:00 pm' leaving completely baffled as to what time I should offer up my person as a sacrifice.
I started calling the office/clinic number the minute they opened, and as you might expect, went to voice mail of the scheduling person, who never returned my call, though I tried and tried to get clarification. You most definitely do not want to do anything, like arrive late, to p.o. the surgeon with a sharp knife in his hand. But also did not want to go hours too early in a state of great anxiety, already so thoroughly stressed out my heart was racing.
Though I did not want to go at all, we arrived a few minutes after nine o'clock, in the out patient waiting area, to hurry up and wait. There was no way to tell time, but think I was putting on the little paper gown by 9:30. I was assured of calming meds. as soon as the IV drip was started: too bad that could not have occurred two days earlier as I was freaking out with dread days in advance. When the scheduling person called with ETA for prep. I inquired about a friendly little dose of Atavan, only to get assurance of 'happy drugs' with saline drip.
When the nurse/person in scrubs came to get me from the waiting room, I asked her to check for the actual really real time for rolling into the OR. She reported noon. My response: Aargghhh. She said by the time we get you prepped and ready, it will be nearly 12. I was instructed 'take off all your clothes', and left with curtains drawn and the crinkly air-conditioned gown. I did not actually take every single piece, if you can read between the lines.
There is a large wall clock in every little curtained off space, above each bed. Positioned for staff to write times of each procedure on chart, to document progress. Thankfully, not where the intended victim can see, as I am 100% certain I would have noticed it going backwards. The IV was started, my surgery arm was marked with a sharpie so he would open the wrong/left one, and drugs began to have the desired effect.
After going to do the pre-registration paperwork a week ago, I was told to expect a call on the day before surgery that would inform about time to arrive for pre-op. The part where they take your clothes away, so you can't escape when you have a change of heart. The call came on Wed. morning for me to appear at 9 a.m. on Thurs. But then another one, a recorded message into voice mail after regular business hours, told of 'appointment with Dr. at 12:00 pm' leaving completely baffled as to what time I should offer up my person as a sacrifice.
I started calling the office/clinic number the minute they opened, and as you might expect, went to voice mail of the scheduling person, who never returned my call, though I tried and tried to get clarification. You most definitely do not want to do anything, like arrive late, to p.o. the surgeon with a sharp knife in his hand. But also did not want to go hours too early in a state of great anxiety, already so thoroughly stressed out my heart was racing.
Though I did not want to go at all, we arrived a few minutes after nine o'clock, in the out patient waiting area, to hurry up and wait. There was no way to tell time, but think I was putting on the little paper gown by 9:30. I was assured of calming meds. as soon as the IV drip was started: too bad that could not have occurred two days earlier as I was freaking out with dread days in advance. When the scheduling person called with ETA for prep. I inquired about a friendly little dose of Atavan, only to get assurance of 'happy drugs' with saline drip.
When the nurse/person in scrubs came to get me from the waiting room, I asked her to check for the actual really real time for rolling into the OR. She reported noon. My response: Aargghhh. She said by the time we get you prepped and ready, it will be nearly 12. I was instructed 'take off all your clothes', and left with curtains drawn and the crinkly air-conditioned gown. I did not actually take every single piece, if you can read between the lines.
There is a large wall clock in every little curtained off space, above each bed. Positioned for staff to write times of each procedure on chart, to document progress. Thankfully, not where the intended victim can see, as I am 100% certain I would have noticed it going backwards. The IV was started, my surgery arm was marked with a sharpie so he would open the wrong/left one, and drugs began to have the desired effect.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
things that will...
... be impossible. Or possibly really frustrating when you attempt with only one hand, or just extremely aggravating, and poorly accomplished if forced to try with your non-dominant hand. A plethora of daily insignificant tasks that frequently turn into monumental obstacles when you find yourself literally hand-y-capped.
It is almost impossible to put on your socks. You don't think about it, when you routinely do it day after day. How you tuck your thumbs in on each side and pull it up over your toes, over foot and past the ankle bone up your leg. But when you cannot pinch between your thumbs and forefingers, but only have one hand engaged in the attempt, it is seriously difficult. Likewise tying your shoe laces. If you do actually it tied into a bow, be assured it will not stay put for long, and will soon be flapping, in need of attention.You have to pull both loops tight, something that cannot be done with only one set of fingers, pinching and pulling.
Brushing teeth with the hand that has never done it is most unsatisfactory. Try it, and you will soon discover you feel hopelessly inept. Your brain will be telling the hand what to do, but your hand will simply not cooperate. It is such a simple task when you allow the hand that has been doing it since you were three years old to take care of your mouth. But the on the other hand, the newly recruited one will be unable to complete the assignment. Better than feeling like a cat slept in there, but very poorly done.
Remarkably difficult to feed yourself. Spooning food in works much better than using a fork, as things tend to fall off the fork before arriving at the opening in your face. Plus, if you plan to consume anything that needs to be cut into bite sized pieces, you'll have to borrow the use of another hand to help hold it down. It takes two hands to operate a knife and slice.
By now, you should be Very Thankful both of your arm extensions are in good working order. You also cannot put a button through a button hole, or zip anything: simple tasks that require both left and right to accomplish. Using scissors is beyond daunting. Or measuring the detergent to go in the washer. Operating a can opener so you won't starve: forget it!
It is almost impossible to put on your socks. You don't think about it, when you routinely do it day after day. How you tuck your thumbs in on each side and pull it up over your toes, over foot and past the ankle bone up your leg. But when you cannot pinch between your thumbs and forefingers, but only have one hand engaged in the attempt, it is seriously difficult. Likewise tying your shoe laces. If you do actually it tied into a bow, be assured it will not stay put for long, and will soon be flapping, in need of attention.You have to pull both loops tight, something that cannot be done with only one set of fingers, pinching and pulling.
Brushing teeth with the hand that has never done it is most unsatisfactory. Try it, and you will soon discover you feel hopelessly inept. Your brain will be telling the hand what to do, but your hand will simply not cooperate. It is such a simple task when you allow the hand that has been doing it since you were three years old to take care of your mouth. But the on the other hand, the newly recruited one will be unable to complete the assignment. Better than feeling like a cat slept in there, but very poorly done.
Remarkably difficult to feed yourself. Spooning food in works much better than using a fork, as things tend to fall off the fork before arriving at the opening in your face. Plus, if you plan to consume anything that needs to be cut into bite sized pieces, you'll have to borrow the use of another hand to help hold it down. It takes two hands to operate a knife and slice.
By now, you should be Very Thankful both of your arm extensions are in good working order. You also cannot put a button through a button hole, or zip anything: simple tasks that require both left and right to accomplish. Using scissors is beyond daunting. Or measuring the detergent to go in the washer. Operating a can opener so you won't starve: forget it!
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
when in the woods...
... over this past weekend, there was considerable opportunity to ride and transport supplies on electric golf carts. The carts are handy for short distances and small loads. Traversing up and down hills with cleaning supplies, laundry needing to be done, disabled participants being moved about.
At one point, there was an empty four person cart, sitting idly near our work area. Parked, un-used, and very tempting. Extremely difficult to resist hi-jacking for a bit of amusement. Causing me to feel a little itchy for mildly misbehaving, remembering occasions of golf cart glee.
Recalling a time years ago in a resort-y place where people would go to vacation, relax, enjoy the serenity of outdoors. Beautiful, restful retreats planned around professionally designed golfing facilities. Where men, in their competitive mode, bring their high dollar bags of golf clubs to hit and chase little white balls for miles through the woods.
We rented carts, caring nothing whatsoever about the game, and drove wildly along the cart paths. Careening around curves and over hills at maximum speed - which was probably about twelve miles per hour. Driving wildly through the neat well groomed course, speeding from hole to hole, laughing uproariously. Ten times the fun of 'Toad's Wild Ride' at Disney! Great hilarity buzzing up hills and through valleys as we zipped along the asphalt path.
Thoroughly annoying the few early morning golfers who were out playing the links before the dew had dried. As you might expect, we departed soon thereafter, skulking way. With a low profile, like chastened gunslingers slouching out of town. With hats pulled low over our eyes, and smug grins, secretly still amused. We had paid to rent the carts, so what could they do other than make us leave? Which we were smart enough to do before we were reported! Good cheap fun, even if those golfers are still fuming years later....
At one point, there was an empty four person cart, sitting idly near our work area. Parked, un-used, and very tempting. Extremely difficult to resist hi-jacking for a bit of amusement. Causing me to feel a little itchy for mildly misbehaving, remembering occasions of golf cart glee.
Recalling a time years ago in a resort-y place where people would go to vacation, relax, enjoy the serenity of outdoors. Beautiful, restful retreats planned around professionally designed golfing facilities. Where men, in their competitive mode, bring their high dollar bags of golf clubs to hit and chase little white balls for miles through the woods.
We rented carts, caring nothing whatsoever about the game, and drove wildly along the cart paths. Careening around curves and over hills at maximum speed - which was probably about twelve miles per hour. Driving wildly through the neat well groomed course, speeding from hole to hole, laughing uproariously. Ten times the fun of 'Toad's Wild Ride' at Disney! Great hilarity buzzing up hills and through valleys as we zipped along the asphalt path.
Thoroughly annoying the few early morning golfers who were out playing the links before the dew had dried. As you might expect, we departed soon thereafter, skulking way. With a low profile, like chastened gunslingers slouching out of town. With hats pulled low over our eyes, and smug grins, secretly still amused. We had paid to rent the carts, so what could they do other than make us leave? Which we were smart enough to do before we were reported! Good cheap fun, even if those golfers are still fuming years later....
book revier: "Gulp"...
...by Mary Roach, subtitled 'Adventures on the Alimentary Canal'. Published by W.W.Norton Co., in 2013. She is such an entertaining writer, any of her work you would choose to pick up will cause you to be captivated by her humor, as well as thorough research. Other books include "Stiff", which goes into fascinating/creep-you-out detail about what happens to the physical remains when a person dies. In "Stiff", I discovered there is an actual body farm, where cadavers are left in the open air to decompose naturally, to allow forensics students to study, evaluate over time as they observe how insects and bacteria recycle human remains. This one is subtitled 'The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers.'
Another book is "Bonk", subtitled as 'The Coupling of Science and Sex.' "Packing for Mars" is about space travel, and what life will be like for humans making long-distance voyages, subtitled 'Life in the Void.' All her writing is packed with interviews, footnotes, obscure facts, trivia, voluminous research into journals and conversations with knowledgeable scholars in the various fields.
"Gulp" will provide more than you wanted to know about the eating and digestion process, but done in such a witty manner you will be intrigued, rather than repulsed. From food preferences and taste buds to the end product as fuel travels the full length of your alimentary process. Informing about how and why, with much detail from experts in various organs along the journey. Interesting bits of obscure data from professionals in institutions and universities from coast to coast.
"...there is a point at which efficiency crosses over into lunacy, and the savings in money or resources ceases to be worthwhile in the light of the price paid in other ways." (p.80)
Another book is "Bonk", subtitled as 'The Coupling of Science and Sex.' "Packing for Mars" is about space travel, and what life will be like for humans making long-distance voyages, subtitled 'Life in the Void.' All her writing is packed with interviews, footnotes, obscure facts, trivia, voluminous research into journals and conversations with knowledgeable scholars in the various fields.
"Gulp" will provide more than you wanted to know about the eating and digestion process, but done in such a witty manner you will be intrigued, rather than repulsed. From food preferences and taste buds to the end product as fuel travels the full length of your alimentary process. Informing about how and why, with much detail from experts in various organs along the journey. Interesting bits of obscure data from professionals in institutions and universities from coast to coast.
"...there is a point at which efficiency crosses over into lunacy, and the savings in money or resources ceases to be worthwhile in the light of the price paid in other ways." (p.80)
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
sort of, but not really...
... vacation over the past weekend, when I was at a retreat center. The 'sort of' part is going up north of town into Harris County into the woods, removed from the wold. No traffic, no retail business, no hustle and bustle, just trees, sunshine, and lots of peace and quiet.
The 'not really' part is explained by the fact that I was not actually a participant in the 'retreating', but went to give my time as a volunteer, providing hands and feet. A behind the scenes worker bee, there to ensure the event would be a memorable experience for the thirty women who were the participating. One of those women who was there to be refreshed and renewed was there by my invite.
The venue, where these events occur each spring and fall is situated on a donated plot of land, at some distance from any commercial property. The facility has three climate controlled dorms that would easily accommodate at least six dozen people, plus another building for staff, kitchen workers, support team. A conference room for meetings, fully equipped kitchen and large dining room. A swimming pool, plus a pond for fishing.
Down a long driveway, tucked into the back edge of the densely wooded lot, completely screened from any neighbors. You might hear owls at night, coyotes, or the faint barks of dogs from distant houses, an occasional scree of hawks circling on thermals, but no real interruptions to the tranquility of the natural environment. Just being there, getting out of the busy-ness of daily activities, opening the car door, taking a deep breath can slow your heart rate.
The many folk who go and serve, making it all come together, invisible but essential parts of a team of volunteers, donate themselves each spring and fall. Devoted to making the retreat as meaningful for others as it was when they were participants. Providing the opportunity for renewal, growth, enrichment that others invited them to experience. Believers all, we choose to invest our time and energy to pass along the blessings that were so generously bestowed as our sponsors invited us to venture on The Walk To Emmaus.
The 'not really' part is explained by the fact that I was not actually a participant in the 'retreating', but went to give my time as a volunteer, providing hands and feet. A behind the scenes worker bee, there to ensure the event would be a memorable experience for the thirty women who were the participating. One of those women who was there to be refreshed and renewed was there by my invite.
The venue, where these events occur each spring and fall is situated on a donated plot of land, at some distance from any commercial property. The facility has three climate controlled dorms that would easily accommodate at least six dozen people, plus another building for staff, kitchen workers, support team. A conference room for meetings, fully equipped kitchen and large dining room. A swimming pool, plus a pond for fishing.
Down a long driveway, tucked into the back edge of the densely wooded lot, completely screened from any neighbors. You might hear owls at night, coyotes, or the faint barks of dogs from distant houses, an occasional scree of hawks circling on thermals, but no real interruptions to the tranquility of the natural environment. Just being there, getting out of the busy-ness of daily activities, opening the car door, taking a deep breath can slow your heart rate.
The many folk who go and serve, making it all come together, invisible but essential parts of a team of volunteers, donate themselves each spring and fall. Devoted to making the retreat as meaningful for others as it was when they were participants. Providing the opportunity for renewal, growth, enrichment that others invited them to experience. Believers all, we choose to invest our time and energy to pass along the blessings that were so generously bestowed as our sponsors invited us to venture on The Walk To Emmaus.
Monday, October 23, 2017
book review: "The Dry"...
... by Jane Harper, copyright 2017, and published by W. F. Howes, Ltd. I found it in the stacks as a set of Cds ,maybe eight or nine discs, and listened over a couple of weeks driving to work, errands, etc. I assume the publishing company is in Australia, or England, as the story is set 'down under'. The title refers to a very arid area of the country, that was in extreme drought. Rivers without water, livestock dying, crops failing, farmers going bankrupt.
As the story begins, the main character is in a small rural town where he grew up, to attend the funeral of his childhood 'mate'/friend. Falk's return was prompted by a cryptic note that said 'Luke lied, you lied. Be at the funeral'. Falk and his dead friend Luke were suspected of having knowledge about the circumstances surrounding the death of a fellow classmate, Ellie.
At the funeral, Falk is told Luke and his family appeared to be a murder/suicide, but there were too many unanswered questions for Falk to leave town without probing deeper. He meant to attend the funeral and return to his life and work in the city. But finds himself revisiting the past, renewing friendships, asking for more information from people who had been guarding their knowledge, hoarding details for a decade, living with guilt they hoped would stay buried.
Well written, suspenseful tale with believable characters. The voice reading the book had an Aussie accent, which made it all the more entertaining. Recommended reading/listening.
As the story begins, the main character is in a small rural town where he grew up, to attend the funeral of his childhood 'mate'/friend. Falk's return was prompted by a cryptic note that said 'Luke lied, you lied. Be at the funeral'. Falk and his dead friend Luke were suspected of having knowledge about the circumstances surrounding the death of a fellow classmate, Ellie.
At the funeral, Falk is told Luke and his family appeared to be a murder/suicide, but there were too many unanswered questions for Falk to leave town without probing deeper. He meant to attend the funeral and return to his life and work in the city. But finds himself revisiting the past, renewing friendships, asking for more information from people who had been guarding their knowledge, hoarding details for a decade, living with guilt they hoped would stay buried.
Well written, suspenseful tale with believable characters. The voice reading the book had an Aussie accent, which made it all the more entertaining. Recommended reading/listening.
book review: "What She Ate"...
... written by Laura Shapiro, published by Viking, 2017. It is subtitled: 'Six remarkable women and the food that tells their stories'. About some very different, well known personalities, most of whom had considerable impact on society and food consumption. Some made their reputations and fortunes by what they did in the kitchen, while others cared little about recipes, planning or production of meals. Notable people from history, as well as some from more recent years. Interesting, fascinating in the same way we enjoy peeking into the personal lives of those who are today's media focus, plus a sprinkling of truly bizarre, like serving deviled eggs as a main course at the President's table for formal dining. Maybe not a State dinner, but still... During the hard times of the 1930's , but really....?!
The women who were so thoroughly researched include Dorothy Wordsworth who was the sister of the famous English poet, William. Dorothy was devoted to her brother, lived with him until he married, then became a housekeeper for a nephew, eventually dying with dementia. Then there is Eleanor Roosevelt, where Shapiro relates that "on many nights, dinner was in the White House was served in two different rooms." Another of those women was the mistress of Adolph Hitler, Eva Braun, who has been largely overlooked by historians. More currently, the final section was about Helen Gurley Brown, the long-time editor of "Cosmopolitan" magazine. Brown was a compulsive dieter, and likely victim of various eating disorders, though she was vocally devoted to her image of 'thin'.
I read a review of this book and thought it would be interesting. These six women were unique, from different centuries and backgrounds, but all left a written trail to follow: diaries, journals, shopping lists, recipes, correspondence to friends. The author obviously invested a great deal of time in sleuthing out the resources she unearthed to discover details of their lives. A bit slow at times, when the subject was obscure, but definitely an enjoyable read.
The women who were so thoroughly researched include Dorothy Wordsworth who was the sister of the famous English poet, William. Dorothy was devoted to her brother, lived with him until he married, then became a housekeeper for a nephew, eventually dying with dementia. Then there is Eleanor Roosevelt, where Shapiro relates that "on many nights, dinner was in the White House was served in two different rooms." Another of those women was the mistress of Adolph Hitler, Eva Braun, who has been largely overlooked by historians. More currently, the final section was about Helen Gurley Brown, the long-time editor of "Cosmopolitan" magazine. Brown was a compulsive dieter, and likely victim of various eating disorders, though she was vocally devoted to her image of 'thin'.
I read a review of this book and thought it would be interesting. These six women were unique, from different centuries and backgrounds, but all left a written trail to follow: diaries, journals, shopping lists, recipes, correspondence to friends. The author obviously invested a great deal of time in sleuthing out the resources she unearthed to discover details of their lives. A bit slow at times, when the subject was obscure, but definitely an enjoyable read.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
this aggravating, frustrating ...
... mess, being literally 'handicapped', and limited to the use of one hand makes everything so time-consuming, including typing. Even so, I am doing pretty well. Taking longer to get every little task accomplished, but slowly getting there.
Knowing even though I will be struggling for weeks to come, a complete recovery is likely, and in time, there is the expectation to regain full mobility. I will get over this, and be back up to full speed, typing with all my resources. Thankful for technology, electricity, modern conveniences, safe, potable water on demand, reliable utility service, dependable transportation. Health insurance!
Gratitude turns what we have into enough.
Knowing even though I will be struggling for weeks to come, a complete recovery is likely, and in time, there is the expectation to regain full mobility. I will get over this, and be back up to full speed, typing with all my resources. Thankful for technology, electricity, modern conveniences, safe, potable water on demand, reliable utility service, dependable transportation. Health insurance!
Gratitude turns what we have into enough.
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
the 'columbus method'...
... of typing is when you are so unskilled as to be 'looking for the keys and landing'. (You do recall what happened when the Queen of Spain underwrote the voyage of Christopher Columbus?) Which is, of course, another description for 'hunt and peck', also known as Barnyard style. Everything written since last Sunday has been typed with one hand. Tedious to be sure, but do-able, after a fashion.
The Dr. required another set of pictures of my innards to decide if surgery would happen, so the bindings from Saturday night ER visit were removed. My hand and arm, previously swaddled and immobilized from finger nails to elbow joint really enjoyed the fresh air. A new splint was applied, but smaller, shorter, only covering half my palm. Which makes every thing about the menial daily tasks of life seem more manageable, though I am still typing with two fingers.
Thankfully, not feeling nearly as confined, able to wiggle my fingers. After a number of frustrating attempts to tie my shoes yesterday, with only one hand participating, the result was most unsatisfactory. I tied them again after leaving orthopedic clinic, and was quite pleased with myself. I have, for many years, claimed to be easily amused - but that small, mostly insignificant triumph was a real highlight in my now semi-disabled life. Along with typing paragraphs galore on the blog with two fingers!
The Dr. required another set of pictures of my innards to decide if surgery would happen, so the bindings from Saturday night ER visit were removed. My hand and arm, previously swaddled and immobilized from finger nails to elbow joint really enjoyed the fresh air. A new splint was applied, but smaller, shorter, only covering half my palm. Which makes every thing about the menial daily tasks of life seem more manageable, though I am still typing with two fingers.
Thankfully, not feeling nearly as confined, able to wiggle my fingers. After a number of frustrating attempts to tie my shoes yesterday, with only one hand participating, the result was most unsatisfactory. I tied them again after leaving orthopedic clinic, and was quite pleased with myself. I have, for many years, claimed to be easily amused - but that small, mostly insignificant triumph was a real highlight in my now semi-disabled life. Along with typing paragraphs galore on the blog with two fingers!
falling-apart-ness...
... update, if you are interested in knowing more. Time has not improved my weak stomach when discussing all things internal. Heaving seemed likely every single day while I was enrolled in the Biology 202 class with lab. Just the thought of the the odor of formaldehyde causes my stomach to feel like 'rough seas ahead.' I avert my face when approaching road-kill.
Conversation about surgery should be prefaced with 'you should sit down before we talk', as it makes me week-kneed and queasy. In this case, reminding me of the title of an early Rolling Stones hit: "You Can't Always Get What You Want", and other distressing facts of life. Just because something is a proven truism, does not mean it isn't unpleasant, profoundly distasteful as well as possibly gruesome. Your tolerance for the abhorrent might be elevated due to an addiction to NCIS/forensic-type shows, or too much zombie apocalypse viewing. As for me, it is too much like road-kill, I'm simply not looking!
The 'truism' here is that I will have surgery on my hand/wrist. Some extra parts put in to hold it all together. I don't recall if the Dr. said 'metal' or he might have just said 'plate', along with nine screws to keep everything in place. Sadly, I already know from viewing the photos, there is a small triangular/pyramid-shaped chunk that seems to be free-floating. After it broke off from the place it should be attached on the radial arm bone, just below my thumb. The plan is to put me back together, (like the nursery rhyme character who fell off the wall as passers-by laughed), and eventually be good as new, or perhaps semi-good?
He said I should expect to be disabled for months to come. The recovery will take six to eight weeks. It will already have been nearly two weeks by the time he gets started, so I am looking at being indisposed until mid-December. Not at all what I had expected my immediate future would hold.
Conversation about surgery should be prefaced with 'you should sit down before we talk', as it makes me week-kneed and queasy. In this case, reminding me of the title of an early Rolling Stones hit: "You Can't Always Get What You Want", and other distressing facts of life. Just because something is a proven truism, does not mean it isn't unpleasant, profoundly distasteful as well as possibly gruesome. Your tolerance for the abhorrent might be elevated due to an addiction to NCIS/forensic-type shows, or too much zombie apocalypse viewing. As for me, it is too much like road-kill, I'm simply not looking!
The 'truism' here is that I will have surgery on my hand/wrist. Some extra parts put in to hold it all together. I don't recall if the Dr. said 'metal' or he might have just said 'plate', along with nine screws to keep everything in place. Sadly, I already know from viewing the photos, there is a small triangular/pyramid-shaped chunk that seems to be free-floating. After it broke off from the place it should be attached on the radial arm bone, just below my thumb. The plan is to put me back together, (like the nursery rhyme character who fell off the wall as passers-by laughed), and eventually be good as new, or perhaps semi-good?
He said I should expect to be disabled for months to come. The recovery will take six to eight weeks. It will already have been nearly two weeks by the time he gets started, so I am looking at being indisposed until mid-December. Not at all what I had expected my immediate future would hold.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
what has happened...
... while this damaged body part has made me appear to be an invalid. Even though I have mostly been at home, un-noticed by all who would ask a thousand questions, since getting swaddled at the ER with hand and arm bound in layers of ace bandage. I had to call in to the job, report an injury, making me unable to work. It is a huge annoyance, thoroughly aggravating, completely inconvenient. Especially and doubly so due to being my dominant hand.
There are a number of things that I have already discovered are impossible, or nearly so, as the level of difficulty when attempting with a single hand. I challenge you to brush your teeth with the 'wrong' hand. You will find it to be amazingly tedious, and profoundly frustrating. Plus, you will feel remarkably inept, like you've done a seriously shoddy job.
You will also have to have a grade-schooler nearby when you get dressed, after you realize you cannot tie your own shoes. Tucking the laces in your socks is not a satisfactory solution. Nor is flapping around like an adolescent who does not pay for his own footwear, with no concept whatsoever of what is involved in keeping growing kids shod.
You really can't cook anything. There is practically nothing you can do in the kitchen other than get a drink of water or put a dish in the microwave. It is very difficult to pour a glass of milk from a full'ish gallon jug, and impossible to peel a banana with one hand. You might eat cereal or soup from a bowl with a spoon, but chasing food around a plate with a fork in your 'wrong' hand is extremely tedious. Preparing anything that needs a knife and the most minimal skills is simply impossible, as you need a hand to hold, while the other hand cuts.
I am trying to be optimistic, continually telling myself: 'this is temporary'. Knowing overall health is relatively good, and the wrist injury is temporary, something to eventually get over, with a return to being able-bodied and active. Feeling 'diminished' is difficult, and being less-than-able, dependent on others for tasks usually done without conscious thought maddening. So, here's my new mantra, which also happens to be a 'Choppyism', that I heard come out of my mom's mouth a gazillion times: This Too Shall Pass.
There are a number of things that I have already discovered are impossible, or nearly so, as the level of difficulty when attempting with a single hand. I challenge you to brush your teeth with the 'wrong' hand. You will find it to be amazingly tedious, and profoundly frustrating. Plus, you will feel remarkably inept, like you've done a seriously shoddy job.
You will also have to have a grade-schooler nearby when you get dressed, after you realize you cannot tie your own shoes. Tucking the laces in your socks is not a satisfactory solution. Nor is flapping around like an adolescent who does not pay for his own footwear, with no concept whatsoever of what is involved in keeping growing kids shod.
You really can't cook anything. There is practically nothing you can do in the kitchen other than get a drink of water or put a dish in the microwave. It is very difficult to pour a glass of milk from a full'ish gallon jug, and impossible to peel a banana with one hand. You might eat cereal or soup from a bowl with a spoon, but chasing food around a plate with a fork in your 'wrong' hand is extremely tedious. Preparing anything that needs a knife and the most minimal skills is simply impossible, as you need a hand to hold, while the other hand cuts.
I am trying to be optimistic, continually telling myself: 'this is temporary'. Knowing overall health is relatively good, and the wrist injury is temporary, something to eventually get over, with a return to being able-bodied and active. Feeling 'diminished' is difficult, and being less-than-able, dependent on others for tasks usually done without conscious thought maddening. So, here's my new mantra, which also happens to be a 'Choppyism', that I heard come out of my mom's mouth a gazillion times: This Too Shall Pass.
Monday, October 16, 2017
book review: "True Women"...
... a novel about women who were in Texas in the frontier era, gutsy, tough females who helped put down the roots that turned a wild, untamed country into a state.Written by Janice Woods Windle, who has been involved in politics in the state over many years. The main characters are so well formed, brought to life on the pages, believing they are fictional is hard to grasp.
The story line follows several generations of women as they are born, grow into adulthood, marry then start families. I have always been of the opinion that women as wives, mothers, as they are caring for others, modeling compassion and character are the glue that holds families together. The durable Texas settlers found in this story are proof of their tenacity and survival skills. Resilient, resourceful and caring as they manage families, households and rough-and-tumble lives out in the western country where they chose to live.
"They followed Georgia and Ed Tom's conversation with exquisite attention, heads swinging in unison from one speaker to another..." (pg. 335)
The story line follows several generations of women as they are born, grow into adulthood, marry then start families. I have always been of the opinion that women as wives, mothers, as they are caring for others, modeling compassion and character are the glue that holds families together. The durable Texas settlers found in this story are proof of their tenacity and survival skills. Resilient, resourceful and caring as they manage families, households and rough-and-tumble lives out in the western country where they chose to live.
"They followed Georgia and Ed Tom's conversation with exquisite attention, heads swinging in unison from one speaker to another..." (pg. 335)
Sunday, October 15, 2017
the bad news...
...post-concert fun. After the Willie show was over, we were fumbling our way back to the car in the dark, with only a cell phone to light the rocky, weedy, rough path: I fell. And broke something important. In my wrist, when my hands went out instinctively to cushion the landing. I knew it was going to be bad... even as gravity was doing what gravity does.
I was struggling to get up, with injured hands, scraped knees, and the help/support of my cousin. Just a few yards more, and we were in her car. With enough light to see how bad it really was. A big knot already on the back of my hand, and plenty of pain. She offered for us to go to the ER, but we went back to her house instead.
My thinking, faulty though it might be: I would rather spend the night in the waiting room of a familiar ER than a strange one in Atlanta. Called my dau., who had just gone to bed, to ask her to drive with me. After a two hour drive, we (surprisingly) spent a only an hour waiting. Another hour being x-rayed, wrapped to stabilize and told to see the specialist. The NP who came in, had the images on her cell phone, reported she had already sent the wrist photos to the doctor. Amazing!
I am wrapped, and taped, and ace bandaged. Even though it was a short night, getting to bed after 3:00 pm, I slept remarkably well. Do think it might be due to morphine injection in my backside?
I was struggling to get up, with injured hands, scraped knees, and the help/support of my cousin. Just a few yards more, and we were in her car. With enough light to see how bad it really was. A big knot already on the back of my hand, and plenty of pain. She offered for us to go to the ER, but we went back to her house instead.
My thinking, faulty though it might be: I would rather spend the night in the waiting room of a familiar ER than a strange one in Atlanta. Called my dau., who had just gone to bed, to ask her to drive with me. After a two hour drive, we (surprisingly) spent a only an hour waiting. Another hour being x-rayed, wrapped to stabilize and told to see the specialist. The NP who came in, had the images on her cell phone, reported she had already sent the wrist photos to the doctor. Amazing!
I am wrapped, and taped, and ace bandaged. Even though it was a short night, getting to bed after 3:00 pm, I slept remarkably well. Do think it might be due to morphine injection in my backside?
going to hear Willie...
... at Chastain Park in Atlanta. On Saturday night, after my volunteer stint for 'help the 'hooch'. We had purchased tickets months ago. I was looking forward to an evening of raucous and rowdy music.The daughter in Decatur was going (actually she was the instigator, planning to take me, as I would surely get lost out there in the dark.) Then she had a conflict, and could not attend. Whereupon, a cousin was lured into using the ticket,
I have not been up to Chastain in many years - before the era of GPS helping to find the way. In reality, I could have gotten myself there and back -but where's the fun in that? There was huge crowd, all happy to see Willie and his honky-tonkin' crew. A beautiful evening in the amphitheater under the open sky. Too much light pollution from the city to see more than a few stars (and a constant stream of airliners arriving and departing from Hartsfield-Jackson miles to the south), but pleasantly cool for some rollicking entertainment.
Lots of imbibing going by attendees, who had brought picnics, tiny tables, candles for ambience. Coolers for beer/wine, plates of party fare, stemware, tablecloths, frou-frou, as any real garden party should have. And us: with our little paper sacks from Chic-fil-A. Good music, good company, good fun. And, quite surprising to me - I did detect the odor of burning pot at all. How completely uncharacteristic for a Willie Nelson concert!
I have not been up to Chastain in many years - before the era of GPS helping to find the way. In reality, I could have gotten myself there and back -but where's the fun in that? There was huge crowd, all happy to see Willie and his honky-tonkin' crew. A beautiful evening in the amphitheater under the open sky. Too much light pollution from the city to see more than a few stars (and a constant stream of airliners arriving and departing from Hartsfield-Jackson miles to the south), but pleasantly cool for some rollicking entertainment.
Lots of imbibing going by attendees, who had brought picnics, tiny tables, candles for ambience. Coolers for beer/wine, plates of party fare, stemware, tablecloths, frou-frou, as any real garden party should have. And us: with our little paper sacks from Chic-fil-A. Good music, good company, good fun. And, quite surprising to me - I did detect the odor of burning pot at all. How completely uncharacteristic for a Willie Nelson concert!
'help the 'hooch'...
...is an annual city event, sponsored by Keep Columbus Beautiful. You might recall from reading, how I offered myself for the board of directors several months ago, after receiving an email, asking for nominations. I am duly sworn, and official. At the second board meeting, there were numerous opportunities/option for making oneself useful at upcoming events.
This past Saturday was the annual river clean-up day. The entire community can get involved, people of all ages are welcomed to assist with removing trash from areas that are part of the watershed. Over the years a tremendous amount of trash has been taken from creeks, streams, the Chattahoochee River and environs.As you might expect, many old tires, as well as pieces of mechanical equipment, plus appliances like refrigerators and window sized air-conditioners. Plus unlikely items such as stolen ATM, grocery shopping carts, bicycles, televisions. Plastic, paper and cardboard neglectful citizens fail to dispose of or recycle properly.
This one day event has been going on for at least twenty years, as I know daughters participated when students, going with scouts or school groups to clean up litter in city parks with watershed lakes. All part of the system that feeds into the river where we get our drinking, cooking and flushing water for daily use. Something that is basic to survival, that we neglectfully pollute every day.
I was working/volunteering with a number of city employees to promote recycling. At a facility where people could bring household items to dispose of toxic chemicals like old cans of paint, agricultural supplies, antifreeze. Small appliances and electronics. Out dated or un-needed OTC or prescription medications. And shoes. Lots of shoes.
Shoes? Yes. Any type, in any condition. To keep them out of the landfill. Plus send to places people are without. Over the years, they have diverted thousands of pairs from being trashed: can you imagine how many centuries the rubber/composite soles of athletic footwear takes to decompose when buried under tons of waste? I was passing out flyers with shoe recycle info., telling the hundreds of people who drove up with materials to turn over for disposal what to with their shoes. Take them to any fire station in town, or deliver to city trucks on Nov.18 at designated pick-up location.
What, you might ask, will be done with a gazillion used shoes? They will be put in cargo containers, delivered to countries where there is a need. Given to people who are walking around bare-footing. Put to good use. If you have old shoes you are ready to part with, I will gladly take them to recycle.
This past Saturday was the annual river clean-up day. The entire community can get involved, people of all ages are welcomed to assist with removing trash from areas that are part of the watershed. Over the years a tremendous amount of trash has been taken from creeks, streams, the Chattahoochee River and environs.As you might expect, many old tires, as well as pieces of mechanical equipment, plus appliances like refrigerators and window sized air-conditioners. Plus unlikely items such as stolen ATM, grocery shopping carts, bicycles, televisions. Plastic, paper and cardboard neglectful citizens fail to dispose of or recycle properly.
This one day event has been going on for at least twenty years, as I know daughters participated when students, going with scouts or school groups to clean up litter in city parks with watershed lakes. All part of the system that feeds into the river where we get our drinking, cooking and flushing water for daily use. Something that is basic to survival, that we neglectfully pollute every day.
I was working/volunteering with a number of city employees to promote recycling. At a facility where people could bring household items to dispose of toxic chemicals like old cans of paint, agricultural supplies, antifreeze. Small appliances and electronics. Out dated or un-needed OTC or prescription medications. And shoes. Lots of shoes.
Shoes? Yes. Any type, in any condition. To keep them out of the landfill. Plus send to places people are without. Over the years, they have diverted thousands of pairs from being trashed: can you imagine how many centuries the rubber/composite soles of athletic footwear takes to decompose when buried under tons of waste? I was passing out flyers with shoe recycle info., telling the hundreds of people who drove up with materials to turn over for disposal what to with their shoes. Take them to any fire station in town, or deliver to city trucks on Nov.18 at designated pick-up location.
What, you might ask, will be done with a gazillion used shoes? They will be put in cargo containers, delivered to countries where there is a need. Given to people who are walking around bare-footing. Put to good use. If you have old shoes you are ready to part with, I will gladly take them to recycle.
Friday, October 13, 2017
book review: "The Dictonary of ....
...Mutual Understanding." Written by Jackie Copleton and copyrighted in 2015, Penguin Books. I did not actually read it, but listened while driving. The author was an English teacher who spent years working in Japan, absorbing culture while she was working.
Two Japanese citizens who were adults at the time of the devastating bombing of Nagasaki. They were at a distance when the bomb was dropped, so were not actually physically affected by the initial blast or fallout. But their daughter was at the point of impact, waiting for her mother to meet her. The grandson was at school, out side at playtime, and suffered severe burns after the explosion, when the horrendous blast consumed everything. They wanted to believe the grandson might have survived the bomb, but after years of fruitless searching, they moved to the US and gave up hope he might be alive.
Eventually the grandson finds the woman, at her home in Pennsylvania, after she has become a widow. But the idea that he did make it through the blast, and that the man at her door is truly her beloved, long-lost grandson is so difficult to believe. The story is told from the point of view of the aging grandmother, often looking back over her life. She remembers and shares a horrifying story, reminiscing about what they did to survive the unthinkable. A thought provoking tale, making that bomb that killed so many, while saving so many other lives by bringing the war to an abrupt end, into a character in the novel.
Two Japanese citizens who were adults at the time of the devastating bombing of Nagasaki. They were at a distance when the bomb was dropped, so were not actually physically affected by the initial blast or fallout. But their daughter was at the point of impact, waiting for her mother to meet her. The grandson was at school, out side at playtime, and suffered severe burns after the explosion, when the horrendous blast consumed everything. They wanted to believe the grandson might have survived the bomb, but after years of fruitless searching, they moved to the US and gave up hope he might be alive.
Eventually the grandson finds the woman, at her home in Pennsylvania, after she has become a widow. But the idea that he did make it through the blast, and that the man at her door is truly her beloved, long-lost grandson is so difficult to believe. The story is told from the point of view of the aging grandmother, often looking back over her life. She remembers and shares a horrifying story, reminiscing about what they did to survive the unthinkable. A thought provoking tale, making that bomb that killed so many, while saving so many other lives by bringing the war to an abrupt end, into a character in the novel.
Thursday, October 12, 2017
another part...
...of the fun on Monday, when we went to TN to amuse one another on the birthday was eating. The celebrated one got to choose about lunch, and we went across town to indulge in Hibachi. Very good, but much more than I would normally eat. So I planned to eat it another time, and asked for a take out box. Sadly, I had leftovers that the chickens surely enjoyed, as I forgot to get my styro. container from the fridge to bring home for another meal.
I had my electric wok in the car, with plans to 'practice' my fajitas for dinner. After consuming far too much at lunch time, we waddled into the grocery store to get the peppers, onions and meat to cook and share. The always entertaining Uncle J. was invited, and came over to dine with us. We also had fresh guacamole, the wonderful Tostitos chips with 'a hint of lime' for dipping. Good eats. I think I gained four pounds in twenty four hours. That stuffing will probably take me weeks to remove...
My thought with the fajitas is that if I can get good at it, perfect one simple dish: I can invite people I like to come and sit down to share a meal together. They will not know, unless a blabbermouth should spill the beans, that the fajitas is the only thing I cook. Hopefully they will enjoy folding peppers, onions and chicken into tortillas enough they will leave full. And also enjoy the time visiting over a meal, fellowship/camaraderie along with some easy dessert. enough they won't wonder where the rest of the food is until they are on the way home.
I had my electric wok in the car, with plans to 'practice' my fajitas for dinner. After consuming far too much at lunch time, we waddled into the grocery store to get the peppers, onions and meat to cook and share. The always entertaining Uncle J. was invited, and came over to dine with us. We also had fresh guacamole, the wonderful Tostitos chips with 'a hint of lime' for dipping. Good eats. I think I gained four pounds in twenty four hours. That stuffing will probably take me weeks to remove...
My thought with the fajitas is that if I can get good at it, perfect one simple dish: I can invite people I like to come and sit down to share a meal together. They will not know, unless a blabbermouth should spill the beans, that the fajitas is the only thing I cook. Hopefully they will enjoy folding peppers, onions and chicken into tortillas enough they will leave full. And also enjoy the time visiting over a meal, fellowship/camaraderie along with some easy dessert. enough they won't wonder where the rest of the food is until they are on the way home.
part of the fun...
... of driving to TN for the day on Monday was stopping at a local'ish garden center to get some huge blooming chrysanthemum plants to take to decorate the front steps of the birthday girl's house. Big, colorful, with lots of buds and bright yellow blooms by the dozens. Usually, it is best to completely avoid garden centers, stay out of the plant shop at Walmart, and keep my distance from anything even remotely related to growing green things.
I have purchased and delivered those great big mum plants on occasion in the past, and knew she would like to have some to make her front steps cheerful. Like dozens of 'smiley faces', all winking and grinning at you when you approach the front door. Plus the joy of having them to plant in the flower bed somewhere and re-bloom year after year with minimal care.
I accidentally bought a half-dozen salvia plants. In a color that you do not normally associate with the flashy red spike-y blooms usually seen on the summer annual. I am thinking/hoping the ones that called my name in the garden shop, will be perennials and come back to bloom again each year. The name of this variety is 'black and blue', so naturally they have a blue bloom that is really eye catching. Over the years, I have often planted the ones that have bright red spikes, hoping to make the hummingbirds, bees and butterflies think of me fondly. They will bloom from spring to fall if just a little care is given. You have to be observant enough to pinch/snip the bloomed out stalks off, forcing them put out new growth, re-bloom and attract pollinators until frost kills the plants.
I hope to get them planted today. After good drenching rains over the weekend, and plenty of moisture to make the dirt more dig-able, they need to go in the ground and get established before cold weather. So that is the extent of my projects/planning for a rare day with nothing on my calendar...
I have purchased and delivered those great big mum plants on occasion in the past, and knew she would like to have some to make her front steps cheerful. Like dozens of 'smiley faces', all winking and grinning at you when you approach the front door. Plus the joy of having them to plant in the flower bed somewhere and re-bloom year after year with minimal care.
I accidentally bought a half-dozen salvia plants. In a color that you do not normally associate with the flashy red spike-y blooms usually seen on the summer annual. I am thinking/hoping the ones that called my name in the garden shop, will be perennials and come back to bloom again each year. The name of this variety is 'black and blue', so naturally they have a blue bloom that is really eye catching. Over the years, I have often planted the ones that have bright red spikes, hoping to make the hummingbirds, bees and butterflies think of me fondly. They will bloom from spring to fall if just a little care is given. You have to be observant enough to pinch/snip the bloomed out stalks off, forcing them put out new growth, re-bloom and attract pollinators until frost kills the plants.
I hope to get them planted today. After good drenching rains over the weekend, and plenty of moisture to make the dirt more dig-able, they need to go in the ground and get established before cold weather. So that is the extent of my projects/planning for a rare day with nothing on my calendar...
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
marvels of modern...
...technology are occurring around us all the time, constantly happening for those who are in the know. I don't mind with most of that, being blissfully unaware, with occasional blips of frustration due to lack of skills, plus my tech. support having long ago left home. Leaving me to depend on phone calls when they say: 'I can't help you from this distance'.
When witnessing an amazing event on Monday, I discovered one of the remarkable advantages of living in the age of technology (along with cell phones, laser surgery, computers in automobiles, etc.) If only I were adaptable enough and had the ability to learn the necessary steps to take advantage of such nifty developments! It would be a convenience: the ability to TCB personal finance all hours of the day and night, regardless of federal holidays, weekends, etc. When banks will close for the least, poorest, harebrained excuse, along with all government offices.
The bank was closed on Columbus Day, which is a pretty poor reason in the opinion of all the indigenous peoples of North America,who were uprooted, enslaved, mass-murdered from imported diseases. A topic for another day. Even though I was not there, I still have to shoulder some of the WASP-y blame.
Back to banking: for the well-versed with tech., a federal holiday was no obstacle to accessing the birthday funds prior to a shopping spree at Target. You can go to the ATM, put your paper in the slot, have it read, and deposited to your account. Without interacting with a human. No drive through, or going in the actual building to get the cash. Amazing.
When witnessing an amazing event on Monday, I discovered one of the remarkable advantages of living in the age of technology (along with cell phones, laser surgery, computers in automobiles, etc.) If only I were adaptable enough and had the ability to learn the necessary steps to take advantage of such nifty developments! It would be a convenience: the ability to TCB personal finance all hours of the day and night, regardless of federal holidays, weekends, etc. When banks will close for the least, poorest, harebrained excuse, along with all government offices.
The bank was closed on Columbus Day, which is a pretty poor reason in the opinion of all the indigenous peoples of North America,who were uprooted, enslaved, mass-murdered from imported diseases. A topic for another day. Even though I was not there, I still have to shoulder some of the WASP-y blame.
Back to banking: for the well-versed with tech., a federal holiday was no obstacle to accessing the birthday funds prior to a shopping spree at Target. You can go to the ATM, put your paper in the slot, have it read, and deposited to your account. Without interacting with a human. No drive through, or going in the actual building to get the cash. Amazing.
Monday, October 9, 2017
traveling in the rain...
...when I drove up to Decatur yesterday, after a full day at work. I had requested days off on Monday and Tuesday, to go to TN. Plus wanted to see a cousin who has been in the states for several weeks, returning to UK on Tuesday. Her sister's daughter living in Decatur area, was the bride a couple of weeks ago. The cousin has enjoyed having time (sans children) to visit friends, family, former co-workers in the US while she has been here.
The remnants of a tropical storm, that did not quite build up to hurricane level winds, has been blowing, dripping, soaking us for several days. The rain is good, as it has been beneficial since everything has gotten really dry around the area. Surprising, since we just endured hurricane winds and rains two weeks ago when Irma devastated everything from Barbuda to Alabama. Another soaking with some days of rain is welcome at my house, though I am not sure farmers hoping to get in their crops feel the same.
Today is the birthday of the daughter in TN. I told her months ago I was planning to come up and see her on Oct. 9. Even though there was a good chance I would have to sit around and watch her sleep. Or fold a mountain of clean clothes, or wash a big pile of accumulated dishes. Just wanted to see her on her b'day as I have done for several years. The best in recent memory: the year we took a big cardboard carton, washer/dryer sized, wrapped in colorful paper, hid inside and closed the lid. Jumped out, singing the birthday song when she came in the room. I don't think I will ever top that...
The remnants of a tropical storm, that did not quite build up to hurricane level winds, has been blowing, dripping, soaking us for several days. The rain is good, as it has been beneficial since everything has gotten really dry around the area. Surprising, since we just endured hurricane winds and rains two weeks ago when Irma devastated everything from Barbuda to Alabama. Another soaking with some days of rain is welcome at my house, though I am not sure farmers hoping to get in their crops feel the same.
the letter said...
... my primary care doctor is not going to be available to patients. It was worded so you think she is retiring, but then you read again, and see she is closing her office. Not leaving, or moving, but just 'not available'. Making me think she is just going off on a tangent, changing the focus of her practice. Going in a different direction, rather than leaving the medical community entirely. But sadly, deciding she will not be my doctor in the future.
Which is problematic, as I am too old to consider the necessity of having to break in another one. I know I can have my thick folder of staffing notes, history transferred to another practice. But I don't want to have to start at square one, and discuss all that stuff, go over the plowed ground with a staffer I don't know, and then have to do it again with a new doc. I have no choice in the matter, but that does not make the daunting prospect any more palatable.
And... to make it even worse: the letter from the doctor reminded me that I would need to be sure the person I find to take responsibility for my health care will also take my insurance. Which I have discovered multiplies the challenge by ten. I understand the aggravating necessity for health insurance. Everything about it makes me say: Arggghhhh. I often wonder what people without do when faced with a monumental expense. Loose everything they own?
But you know the practice will not let you in the door without your proof of insurance. They will ask you on the phone for your provider before they want your name. You can't even talk to the receptionist without having coverage, and it has to be a plan the doctor will accept. It is so frustrating.
I talked to several people, friends who I thought might offer suggestions. And got several names. Even talked with a friend who is a pediatrician, and she told me of a PA. Made several calls, and found no one who would take me/my insurance. Arrrggghhh. Finally found a doctor in a big practice who does accept it only to hear the first 'new patient' appointment would be nearly eight weeks away.
Sounds like a good news/bad news joke: fortunately I don't actually need a doctor. Sadly, the only one I can find doesn't want to see me (for two months). Knowing the necessity of establishing a relationship, I wanted to get my foot in the door, to be able to get help if/when needed. Having no need to see a medical professional, while knowing my (necessary) insurance will be billed for a complete medical history/workup that is totally without merit is nearly as frustrating as finding the provider in the first place.
The receptionist put me down in the book. And sent a large packet of paperwork I must complete to turn in on arrival. I have done the history, and keep adding things as I think of them. The actual date for the appointment is still nearly a month away. I will practice being thankful for medical insurance. And am daily thankful for good health, mobility, plus the clarity of mind to do the work of sussing out my un-met new provider, and ability to remember enough of my cloudy history to fill out all the forms.
Which is problematic, as I am too old to consider the necessity of having to break in another one. I know I can have my thick folder of staffing notes, history transferred to another practice. But I don't want to have to start at square one, and discuss all that stuff, go over the plowed ground with a staffer I don't know, and then have to do it again with a new doc. I have no choice in the matter, but that does not make the daunting prospect any more palatable.
And... to make it even worse: the letter from the doctor reminded me that I would need to be sure the person I find to take responsibility for my health care will also take my insurance. Which I have discovered multiplies the challenge by ten. I understand the aggravating necessity for health insurance. Everything about it makes me say: Arggghhhh. I often wonder what people without do when faced with a monumental expense. Loose everything they own?
But you know the practice will not let you in the door without your proof of insurance. They will ask you on the phone for your provider before they want your name. You can't even talk to the receptionist without having coverage, and it has to be a plan the doctor will accept. It is so frustrating.
I talked to several people, friends who I thought might offer suggestions. And got several names. Even talked with a friend who is a pediatrician, and she told me of a PA. Made several calls, and found no one who would take me/my insurance. Arrrggghhh. Finally found a doctor in a big practice who does accept it only to hear the first 'new patient' appointment would be nearly eight weeks away.
Sounds like a good news/bad news joke: fortunately I don't actually need a doctor. Sadly, the only one I can find doesn't want to see me (for two months). Knowing the necessity of establishing a relationship, I wanted to get my foot in the door, to be able to get help if/when needed. Having no need to see a medical professional, while knowing my (necessary) insurance will be billed for a complete medical history/workup that is totally without merit is nearly as frustrating as finding the provider in the first place.
The receptionist put me down in the book. And sent a large packet of paperwork I must complete to turn in on arrival. I have done the history, and keep adding things as I think of them. The actual date for the appointment is still nearly a month away. I will practice being thankful for medical insurance. And am daily thankful for good health, mobility, plus the clarity of mind to do the work of sussing out my un-met new provider, and ability to remember enough of my cloudy history to fill out all the forms.
as a result of being...
... the consummate sucker for a bargain, I bought something (or five thousand somethings) off the sale rack at work, thinking it would be worth a try since it was half-price. Yesh, I should have known better... obviously marked down for a reason, right? And now we know.... do not buy it just because you think it is a bargain, right? As they say in the world of Consumer Protection: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
This one did not require enough cash to have affected my retirement, but still, I readily admit it was a mistake. A shelf-stable box of soup. Marketing experts can make the packaging so temptingly tasty- looking the unwary shopper can be lured into buying many things of little worth. The box of steaming, delicious-looking butternut soup was disappointing to say the least. I did not read the list of ingredients, but after heating and eating, conclude the product tastes just like the box it was packaged in. Remarkably bland and disappointing. So tasteless, I had to heat up a second bowl and try again, just to be sure it was completely flavorless.
In a way, it would not be unreasonable to shift the blame for the poor quality. I bought it because I have had some wonderfully tasty, delightful butternut soup in the past. Basically due to the daughter who has spoiled me and educated my taste buds. Some years ago, when she was working in a little fern bar, she had occasion to put butternut soup on her menu. It was delicious. Seems like it might have had some unexpected spices in it, like mace or curry? She reportedly put some orange juice in, and more heavy cream than is good for any of us. There might not have been an actual recipe, just a lot of tasting and adjusting as the pot simmered. So it might not ever be reproduced in the manner that made my taste buds so happy, but the thought lingers in my mind.
Which was why I purchased that disappointing box of soup at work several weeks ago. Lesson learned: if you want something wonderful to go in your mouth -return to the source. Hmmm.... it is getting to be fall, the season of hard squashes....
This one did not require enough cash to have affected my retirement, but still, I readily admit it was a mistake. A shelf-stable box of soup. Marketing experts can make the packaging so temptingly tasty- looking the unwary shopper can be lured into buying many things of little worth. The box of steaming, delicious-looking butternut soup was disappointing to say the least. I did not read the list of ingredients, but after heating and eating, conclude the product tastes just like the box it was packaged in. Remarkably bland and disappointing. So tasteless, I had to heat up a second bowl and try again, just to be sure it was completely flavorless.
In a way, it would not be unreasonable to shift the blame for the poor quality. I bought it because I have had some wonderfully tasty, delightful butternut soup in the past. Basically due to the daughter who has spoiled me and educated my taste buds. Some years ago, when she was working in a little fern bar, she had occasion to put butternut soup on her menu. It was delicious. Seems like it might have had some unexpected spices in it, like mace or curry? She reportedly put some orange juice in, and more heavy cream than is good for any of us. There might not have been an actual recipe, just a lot of tasting and adjusting as the pot simmered. So it might not ever be reproduced in the manner that made my taste buds so happy, but the thought lingers in my mind.
Which was why I purchased that disappointing box of soup at work several weeks ago. Lesson learned: if you want something wonderful to go in your mouth -return to the source. Hmmm.... it is getting to be fall, the season of hard squashes....
Saturday, October 7, 2017
aggravating as well as...
...completely un-necessary, but I did it to myself, so have no one else to blame. I feel like such a doofus, may as well go ahead and confess. Admit to stupidity, so I can move on.
It would be nice to be able to pass the responsibility for the entire scenario on to the friend who gave me the plants. But she is not the person who put it in my car, and let it turn over to dump dirt into the carpet. Even though it happened because I went by her house after work when she forgot to give it to me when we met for lunch yesterday. Which likely would have caused me to dump dirt on Friday instead.
I went to pick up my plant, and spilled plants and potting soil out on the floor of my car. So took the mat out and dumped that, but still had to get the vacuum out to get up what was left. The wrong occurred when I put the mat on the top of the car. It flew off when I left home, going to the store. Totally forgot it was there, and did not think about it until hours later. Dang it. I was so annoyed with myself. Not like the time I put someones shoes on the top of the car, and found them down the street weeks later. But still pretty irritating.
I had to get The Man Who Lives Here to drive down the street very slowly, with me as a passenger. Thankfully we did not go far before I spotted the missing mat, and jumped out to retrieve it. Along the edge of the right of way, far enough off the asphalt that it did not get run over a gazillion times, but close enough to be easily spotted when we started the search. A story with a happy ending, so I guess I am finished with the aggravation.
It would be nice to be able to pass the responsibility for the entire scenario on to the friend who gave me the plants. But she is not the person who put it in my car, and let it turn over to dump dirt into the carpet. Even though it happened because I went by her house after work when she forgot to give it to me when we met for lunch yesterday. Which likely would have caused me to dump dirt on Friday instead.
I went to pick up my plant, and spilled plants and potting soil out on the floor of my car. So took the mat out and dumped that, but still had to get the vacuum out to get up what was left. The wrong occurred when I put the mat on the top of the car. It flew off when I left home, going to the store. Totally forgot it was there, and did not think about it until hours later. Dang it. I was so annoyed with myself. Not like the time I put someones shoes on the top of the car, and found them down the street weeks later. But still pretty irritating.
I had to get The Man Who Lives Here to drive down the street very slowly, with me as a passenger. Thankfully we did not go far before I spotted the missing mat, and jumped out to retrieve it. Along the edge of the right of way, far enough off the asphalt that it did not get run over a gazillion times, but close enough to be easily spotted when we started the search. A story with a happy ending, so I guess I am finished with the aggravation.
Wednesday, October 4, 2017
four hundred twenty-four...
... miles today from six a.m until 8:00 pm. Driving from home to Valdosta and back again. Went to take my auntie to a dr. appointment. It was a long day of travel, but I had to get back to go to bed and up again at five o'clock to go to work in the morning.
I was really anxious at the prospect of me being the one to transport the auntie to the doctor's office. She has a history with us, cousins and myself, of being highly uncooperative when we have been the drivers trying to help her out. Unwilling to do what is necessary, what we have asked her to, making us all extremely reluctant to be the ones doing the driving. She would willingly get in the car to go someplace, then decide she would not get out after a trip. Which would understandably make anyone think long and hard before considering getting involved in transporting when needed.
But today was much better than in the past, though I admit to lots of low grade anxiety during the time she was with me today. We went out to lunch, then to her appointment at the doctors' office. She must have asked me two dozen times while in the waiting area who the doctor was, why she was there, who sent her, and what sort of doctor she was seeing. I answered the questions over and over. In what I thought was a remarkable show of patience. Considering the possibility of making up something different each time, but decided to be consistent.
All my worries were for naught. She was mostly agreeable, and did not present any problems at all when I took her back to the facility where she is living. Though she questioned me about how long she would be there, and who thought she needed to stay, she was not as disagreeable or combative as I had feared. Went placidly back in the door to the place she has been living since early summer. A gigantic sigh of relief here!
She was, surprisingly, thoroughly dissatisfied with the chic-fil-a sandwich she had for lunch: did not have mayo., needed salt, where were the lettuce and tomato, too much bread. If my mom had been there and witnessed this person, her sister, being so consistently disagreeable, she would have described it as a situation where 'you can't win for losing'. Which means, I think - that no matter what you do - it will be the wrong thing.
I was really anxious at the prospect of me being the one to transport the auntie to the doctor's office. She has a history with us, cousins and myself, of being highly uncooperative when we have been the drivers trying to help her out. Unwilling to do what is necessary, what we have asked her to, making us all extremely reluctant to be the ones doing the driving. She would willingly get in the car to go someplace, then decide she would not get out after a trip. Which would understandably make anyone think long and hard before considering getting involved in transporting when needed.
But today was much better than in the past, though I admit to lots of low grade anxiety during the time she was with me today. We went out to lunch, then to her appointment at the doctors' office. She must have asked me two dozen times while in the waiting area who the doctor was, why she was there, who sent her, and what sort of doctor she was seeing. I answered the questions over and over. In what I thought was a remarkable show of patience. Considering the possibility of making up something different each time, but decided to be consistent.
All my worries were for naught. She was mostly agreeable, and did not present any problems at all when I took her back to the facility where she is living. Though she questioned me about how long she would be there, and who thought she needed to stay, she was not as disagreeable or combative as I had feared. Went placidly back in the door to the place she has been living since early summer. A gigantic sigh of relief here!
She was, surprisingly, thoroughly dissatisfied with the chic-fil-a sandwich she had for lunch: did not have mayo., needed salt, where were the lettuce and tomato, too much bread. If my mom had been there and witnessed this person, her sister, being so consistently disagreeable, she would have described it as a situation where 'you can't win for losing'. Which means, I think - that no matter what you do - it will be the wrong thing.
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
book review: "Tamarack County"...
... another talking book, by that same author as the last one. William Kent Krueger, written in 2013. The blurb on the back of the boxed set of nine Cds reports the story is "full of riveting suspense, fascinating characters, and set in a gorgeous yet unforgiving landscape. Tamarack County is an outstanding addition to an award-winning series...". Just out of curiosity, I did a bit of research and Tamarack County really does exist, up in the Boundary Waters area of norther Minnesota. The town the family lived was not mentioned in the article I read, but since all the characters were invented, no reason the town could not be as well.
The lead character is once again, retired law officer, Cork O'Connor, who works as a private investigator. His family plays a number of roles in the story as it unfolds, starting with a mysterious disappearance who becomes a missing person, then a homicide victim, as the wife of a retired judge fails to return home when expected. This particular mystery occurs in December, when the weather in Minnesota is bone-chilling cold, with iced over lakes, and frequent snow storms. A good story to read during the hot sticky days of summer.
One of O'Connor's daughters, Anne, has been in a religious order for several years, but comes home needing time and space to sort out confusion and doubt in her mind and heart. Near the end of the story, after the murderous home-invader has been subdued. Cork is so angry he tries to make Anne leave the room, so he can shoot the killer, but Anne refuses to go, and demands of her dad that he not resort to more violence. Anne says: "...I think happiness is like that. If you spend your life looking for it, you'll probably be disappointed. It comes on it's own."
Can't disagree with that. Or the summation from the back cover of the box: riveting and fascinating.
The lead character is once again, retired law officer, Cork O'Connor, who works as a private investigator. His family plays a number of roles in the story as it unfolds, starting with a mysterious disappearance who becomes a missing person, then a homicide victim, as the wife of a retired judge fails to return home when expected. This particular mystery occurs in December, when the weather in Minnesota is bone-chilling cold, with iced over lakes, and frequent snow storms. A good story to read during the hot sticky days of summer.
One of O'Connor's daughters, Anne, has been in a religious order for several years, but comes home needing time and space to sort out confusion and doubt in her mind and heart. Near the end of the story, after the murderous home-invader has been subdued. Cork is so angry he tries to make Anne leave the room, so he can shoot the killer, but Anne refuses to go, and demands of her dad that he not resort to more violence. Anne says: "...I think happiness is like that. If you spend your life looking for it, you'll probably be disappointed. It comes on it's own."
Can't disagree with that. Or the summation from the back cover of the box: riveting and fascinating.
Monday, October 2, 2017
literacy tutoring, week 3...
... though when they can barely recognize the letters of the alphabet, I am hesitant to apply the word 'literate'. I know everyone has to start at the beginning, but by the time they are well into their pre-school year, most of them have been exposed to the shapes of the letters enough that they can tell you the names of each one, even if they cannot actually legibly reproduce them. Once again, when I asked the little guy to write his name on the inside cover of his newest book, he said: 'Let's do it together'. Which I thought was amazingly smart as well as shrewd, a great way to get me to hold the pencil with him and shape the letters of his name, without having to say: 'I can't do it myself.' So, in reality, even if he is struggling to learn the basics, he can certainly read me like a book!
Both of the students I am working with this session are boys. In the past I think they have pretty consistently been one of each as I have spent one day a week in eight week increments over several years, reading and talking about books, words, illustrations. One of the guys I saw today was not even remotely interested in sitting still long enough to read. He didn't even want to look at the pages and talk about the illustrations: lots of pictures of animals doing a variety of familiar tasks. He just could not sit still.
I believe my job as a volunteer is to read, talk about the books, encourage them to be engaged in the process, model literacy, holding the book and turning pages, discuss the activities of the characters, ask questions to encourage them to look, consider, ponder, and wonder. My job is not to enforce discipline, demand appropriate behavior. If they do not want to do the work sheet, we don't do it. If they do not care to write their names, they do not have to do it. If it's not interesting, engaging, something they do by choice, it will become a chore. Which is not at all what I believe reading is or should be.
When I got back to work, I told someone I thought that little guy must have had fishbait for breakfast. I laughed and said I had to think he had worms, as he was so wiggly. And also thought he must have had crickets too, as he seemed to be spring-loaded, so full of bounciness he was constantly getting out of the chair, unable to sit still.
He was so energetic, full of pep, he could not sit down long enough to help write his name. He was so busy looking around the lunch room and talking ninety-miles an hour I could not get a word in edgewise. He was just not inclined to sit, look, read, listen. So we didn't. He was ready to go back to the classroom, and trotting, at full tilt, like he was heading into a stiff wind. I literally could not keep up with him. So sweet, and amusing, you cannot get upset, but it is frustrating when he cannot sit down for ten minutes.
Both of the students I am working with this session are boys. In the past I think they have pretty consistently been one of each as I have spent one day a week in eight week increments over several years, reading and talking about books, words, illustrations. One of the guys I saw today was not even remotely interested in sitting still long enough to read. He didn't even want to look at the pages and talk about the illustrations: lots of pictures of animals doing a variety of familiar tasks. He just could not sit still.
I believe my job as a volunteer is to read, talk about the books, encourage them to be engaged in the process, model literacy, holding the book and turning pages, discuss the activities of the characters, ask questions to encourage them to look, consider, ponder, and wonder. My job is not to enforce discipline, demand appropriate behavior. If they do not want to do the work sheet, we don't do it. If they do not care to write their names, they do not have to do it. If it's not interesting, engaging, something they do by choice, it will become a chore. Which is not at all what I believe reading is or should be.
When I got back to work, I told someone I thought that little guy must have had fishbait for breakfast. I laughed and said I had to think he had worms, as he was so wiggly. And also thought he must have had crickets too, as he seemed to be spring-loaded, so full of bounciness he was constantly getting out of the chair, unable to sit still.
He was so energetic, full of pep, he could not sit down long enough to help write his name. He was so busy looking around the lunch room and talking ninety-miles an hour I could not get a word in edgewise. He was just not inclined to sit, look, read, listen. So we didn't. He was ready to go back to the classroom, and trotting, at full tilt, like he was heading into a stiff wind. I literally could not keep up with him. So sweet, and amusing, you cannot get upset, but it is frustrating when he cannot sit down for ten minutes.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
amazing myself...
... by accidentally unintentionally finding out how to do something on my computer. It is really sad to feel so intimidated by technology. It is so frustrating to not know how to do stuff, and have things disappear. It is so aggravating to not have the tech skills needed to work the system without thinking important stuff will vanish forever when the wrong button is tapped.
I do not know much about any of this. I am a regular, every day passenger on the Struggle Bus when it comes to phones and computers. More than once I have called a co-worker to ask him how to do something, and he will often have a ready response. Or be willing to do some research and get back to me with a solution or answer to my problem. Young people... what can I say?
The thing I was looking for was my password needed to access computers at work. Everyone has to do some OSHA stuff each month, about five minutes worth of store protocols, saftey procedures to refresh and remind. A short video that has to be done on company computers, that record the fact that you have completed the assignment. But you have to know your personal password/pin to access the portal. So I could not view the film the entire month of September, while I was struggling to remember my secret number.
I knew that was in here someplace. Just didn't know where to look, how to find the secrets. Even called the daughter who I have actually seen find passwords. But she could not help. Then called the co-worker who has gotten me out of more than one jam. He said he would do some research and find the route, let me know the following day.
I had an Eureka! moment on Saturday - I found it myself! Even though no one else is impressed, I am still quite pleased about my accomplishment. Thinking I better write the path down, since I cannot remember pins or passwords.
Options. Security. Log-ins. Aha!
I do not know much about any of this. I am a regular, every day passenger on the Struggle Bus when it comes to phones and computers. More than once I have called a co-worker to ask him how to do something, and he will often have a ready response. Or be willing to do some research and get back to me with a solution or answer to my problem. Young people... what can I say?
The thing I was looking for was my password needed to access computers at work. Everyone has to do some OSHA stuff each month, about five minutes worth of store protocols, saftey procedures to refresh and remind. A short video that has to be done on company computers, that record the fact that you have completed the assignment. But you have to know your personal password/pin to access the portal. So I could not view the film the entire month of September, while I was struggling to remember my secret number.
I knew that was in here someplace. Just didn't know where to look, how to find the secrets. Even called the daughter who I have actually seen find passwords. But she could not help. Then called the co-worker who has gotten me out of more than one jam. He said he would do some research and find the route, let me know the following day.
I had an Eureka! moment on Saturday - I found it myself! Even though no one else is impressed, I am still quite pleased about my accomplishment. Thinking I better write the path down, since I cannot remember pins or passwords.
Options. Security. Log-ins. Aha!
book review: "Northwest Angle"...
... by the same author as one I recently read while driving.William Kent Krueger has written a number of books with the same characters, the O'Corcoran family residing in the small community of Aurora, Minnesota. The father of the clan is Cork, a retired law-enforcement professional who runs a small seasonal business, and works at private investigating. They are closely related to the Ojibwas in the area, and friend with many of he Native Americans who live on the nearby reservation.
The northwest angle is an area that is only accessible by water or driving through part of Canada, as it extends out into Lake of the Woods in the extreme northern part of the MN. This little bit of densely forested but sparsely populated land, about 123 square miles, is the northernmost point of the contiguous United States. The O'Corcoran family was out on the Lake in a rented house boat and a mighty wind came up, devastating the trees on the islands, and blowing two of the family out of a small dinghy. The story revolves around a young woman's body found on one of the islands, and a baby the castaways find and care for. The mother was murdered, but the baby was safely hidden.
Another of those books I read while driving, a fascinating story, well told, plenty suspenseful. Peopled with interesting characters, and a believable plot line, involving native Americans, Bible-thumpers obsessed with the end times, high speed boats. Firearms, dangerous rescues, deception and subterfuge. After reading several books with the same characters, I feel like I know these many of these people, and hope they will invite me to come and visit.
"...the stars lay on the sky like sugar tossed on an onyx plate." Giving you an idea of what the beautiful night sky must look like out there in the vastness of a body of water so far from any signs of development or humanity that there is total darkness except for what God provides. Can you imagine seeing something that breathtaking at such a remote place there is no light pollution to make the stars fade out?
The northwest angle is an area that is only accessible by water or driving through part of Canada, as it extends out into Lake of the Woods in the extreme northern part of the MN. This little bit of densely forested but sparsely populated land, about 123 square miles, is the northernmost point of the contiguous United States. The O'Corcoran family was out on the Lake in a rented house boat and a mighty wind came up, devastating the trees on the islands, and blowing two of the family out of a small dinghy. The story revolves around a young woman's body found on one of the islands, and a baby the castaways find and care for. The mother was murdered, but the baby was safely hidden.
Another of those books I read while driving, a fascinating story, well told, plenty suspenseful. Peopled with interesting characters, and a believable plot line, involving native Americans, Bible-thumpers obsessed with the end times, high speed boats. Firearms, dangerous rescues, deception and subterfuge. After reading several books with the same characters, I feel like I know these many of these people, and hope they will invite me to come and visit.
"...the stars lay on the sky like sugar tossed on an onyx plate." Giving you an idea of what the beautiful night sky must look like out there in the vastness of a body of water so far from any signs of development or humanity that there is total darkness except for what God provides. Can you imagine seeing something that breathtaking at such a remote place there is no light pollution to make the stars fade out?
the answer is:
..."Thank you very much." Although you might think this quote is attributed to The King, (Elvis Presley), it has nothing to do with ole' swivel hips. And lots to do with a small household chore I was pondering earlier in the week. On a day when I did not work and was in m pjs most of the morning, doing some things that needed my attention on the home front.
Like laundry. Which makes me very thankful for all the modern conveniences that come together so getting clothing clean is not really a 'chore'. Things we all tend to take for granted, like electricity on demand. All you have to do is flip the switch or press the button and ta-da! Instant power at your command! Lights come on, appliances obey your bidding. Beds are warmed when you are cold and ready to snuggle in. Food is kept cold, or frozen, readily available as needed. Interior climate is controlled: heated or cooled at the mere touch of a finger. Amazing!
Washer and dryers, detergent, power to run those things, funds to pay for all. All things that much of the world does not have. Which leads to the question that should precede the answer provided in the first paragraph. There will come a time when The Man Who Lives Here will be inquiring, asking for advice. Wanting to know what sort of item might be well received at the next gift-giving occasion, which will probably be Christmas.
Several years ago, when he posed the question I said: An occasional bit of support with the cost of groceries. The person (me!) who works at the grocery store buys about 95% of the food that comes in the house. If you would consider helping with the purchase of the food you eat, that would be a welcome gift. It worked for a little while.
The answer, should I receive it, will apply to the fact that I have been doing laundry for other people most of my life. I am aware/thankful for the water and appliances that make it possible. Plus electricity moving through power lines and wires that make things pump and spin. And commercially available laundry detergent to make things clean. And the delicious scent and convenience of dryer sheets.
Then the clothing goes from the washer to the dryer, heated and tumbled to perfection. Ready to fold and put away. It magically appears in the drawer, clean and folded on a regular basis. It mysteriously appears, on hangers in the closet, several times a week. This baffling occurrence cannot be attributed to the Clean Underwear Fairy, even though there is no witness to how it happens.
What I would like to hear, at least once a day: "Thank You Very Much." Or maybe: "It is so nice to have clean clothing to put on each day. I have been wondering for years where it comes from over and over and over and over and over???"
Like laundry. Which makes me very thankful for all the modern conveniences that come together so getting clothing clean is not really a 'chore'. Things we all tend to take for granted, like electricity on demand. All you have to do is flip the switch or press the button and ta-da! Instant power at your command! Lights come on, appliances obey your bidding. Beds are warmed when you are cold and ready to snuggle in. Food is kept cold, or frozen, readily available as needed. Interior climate is controlled: heated or cooled at the mere touch of a finger. Amazing!
Washer and dryers, detergent, power to run those things, funds to pay for all. All things that much of the world does not have. Which leads to the question that should precede the answer provided in the first paragraph. There will come a time when The Man Who Lives Here will be inquiring, asking for advice. Wanting to know what sort of item might be well received at the next gift-giving occasion, which will probably be Christmas.
Several years ago, when he posed the question I said: An occasional bit of support with the cost of groceries. The person (me!) who works at the grocery store buys about 95% of the food that comes in the house. If you would consider helping with the purchase of the food you eat, that would be a welcome gift. It worked for a little while.
The answer, should I receive it, will apply to the fact that I have been doing laundry for other people most of my life. I am aware/thankful for the water and appliances that make it possible. Plus electricity moving through power lines and wires that make things pump and spin. And commercially available laundry detergent to make things clean. And the delicious scent and convenience of dryer sheets.
Then the clothing goes from the washer to the dryer, heated and tumbled to perfection. Ready to fold and put away. It magically appears in the drawer, clean and folded on a regular basis. It mysteriously appears, on hangers in the closet, several times a week. This baffling occurrence cannot be attributed to the Clean Underwear Fairy, even though there is no witness to how it happens.
What I would like to hear, at least once a day: "Thank You Very Much." Or maybe: "It is so nice to have clean clothing to put on each day. I have been wondering for years where it comes from over and over and over and over and over???"
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