... is the first of December: where did the year go?! Though the square on my calendar for Saturday was already pretty full with volunteering opportunities, I will get up early and go put in several hours at work before starting in on the things I had actually planned to do. Someone at work called to report a small problem that will require a replacement on Saturday. Even though I had requested the day off to tend to my 'time donation', I offered to go to work to try to make a few more hours for the week that starts on Saturday morning.
The volunteering job consists of showing up with my scissors and pipe-cleaners/stems to tie bows. It amuses me so much, I should be paying them to be allowed to come and put on a 'bow-show'. I cannot explain why the process is so enjoyable - I just like to tie bows. Maybe because I know it is a skill, and I don't have many/much in the way of accomplished talents. The local botanical gardens has been offering a workshop on a Saturday in early December for several years, for people to come and make a fresh Christmas-smelling greenery wreath. Lots of different types and textures of greenery available to sort through, study, look at and decide upon to make a holiday decoration for your front door, or possibly over the mantel inside your home. I will go and tie, tie tie-tie bows to go on the wreaths for the participants to add to their decorations.
And stick around in the afternoon when more volunteers will show up to help decorated the farm house for the season. Prior to Open House on Sunday afternoon, when there will be seasonal music, cookies and vendors displaying their wares for purchase. All this after going to work for five hours....
Friday, November 30, 2018
book review: "Dragon Teeth"...
... by Michael Crichton. Who you might recall is the guy who wrote the original "Jurassic Park" that the movie and all the sequels were adapted from. Talk about a franchise!?! I have been googling and done a little research on the prolific author. According to Wikipedia, the book he seems to be most well known for is "The Andromeda Strain". I recall reading several of his publications years ago, but recall they were more medical fiction than works of science fiction, though there is certainly a lot of overlap between the two. On the edge of believable, the things I read decades ago were so creepy and realistic, they still stick in my head today.
Critchton was (died several years ago) a very prolific author. Dozens of short stories, as well as full length books and numerous screenplays/adaptions for movies and television, that I won't go into here. There is plenty of evidence that he is a capable writer, can afford a small army to help with researching any area he desires to know about in detail. The book I just finished was fascinating: based on facts, actual people who were paleontologists in the late 1800's when the Wild West was still wild. The main character William Johnson is fiction, but there were two opposing fossil hunters that are well documented in books as well as newspaper articles.
This is early on in the search for fossils, man's effort to discover the history of the planet. There is much debate about what sort of animal the bones would have belonged to, many opposing schools of thought by men with vehement opinions. Johnson starts out from Yale, on a dare, with a Prof. Marsh, who soon abandons him, leaving him stranded. Along comes Professor Cope, who takes Johnson on to serve as a photographer for his search in the Badlands for proof of dinosaurs. The story is convoluted, but very interesting, bringing in much geographic detail as well as individuals who are well documented in written history of the era. As you may have guessed, the title comes from the idea that no one living during this time was aware that huge reptiles populated the planet thousands of years before humans. A discovery of bones in the limestone cliffs, as well as unearthing huge sharp teeth was confusing, a mystery compounded: dragon teeth?
The book was published by his wife, with an afterword by Mrs. Crichton, reporting on some of the material used in the writing of the volume. I think he started the research when he was writing the book the Jurassic tales were based upon, and just never finished it, left to be discovered after his death. Filled with believable people and convincing details, an excellent book.
Critchton was (died several years ago) a very prolific author. Dozens of short stories, as well as full length books and numerous screenplays/adaptions for movies and television, that I won't go into here. There is plenty of evidence that he is a capable writer, can afford a small army to help with researching any area he desires to know about in detail. The book I just finished was fascinating: based on facts, actual people who were paleontologists in the late 1800's when the Wild West was still wild. The main character William Johnson is fiction, but there were two opposing fossil hunters that are well documented in books as well as newspaper articles.
This is early on in the search for fossils, man's effort to discover the history of the planet. There is much debate about what sort of animal the bones would have belonged to, many opposing schools of thought by men with vehement opinions. Johnson starts out from Yale, on a dare, with a Prof. Marsh, who soon abandons him, leaving him stranded. Along comes Professor Cope, who takes Johnson on to serve as a photographer for his search in the Badlands for proof of dinosaurs. The story is convoluted, but very interesting, bringing in much geographic detail as well as individuals who are well documented in written history of the era. As you may have guessed, the title comes from the idea that no one living during this time was aware that huge reptiles populated the planet thousands of years before humans. A discovery of bones in the limestone cliffs, as well as unearthing huge sharp teeth was confusing, a mystery compounded: dragon teeth?
The book was published by his wife, with an afterword by Mrs. Crichton, reporting on some of the material used in the writing of the volume. I think he started the research when he was writing the book the Jurassic tales were based upon, and just never finished it, left to be discovered after his death. Filled with believable people and convincing details, an excellent book.
after going...
... in to work this morning at 5 a.m., and getting off at shortly after 11:00, I was trying to make a bee-line for the house to get the floor cleaned. Have been looking at and threatening to sweep and mop the kitchen for several weeks. The floor needed to be cleaned before the man who was to make a service call between two and four arrived. When the weather changes, you can depend on an interesting assortment of bugs to show up inside the house. Hot to cold, or wet to dry, or a long dry spell without rain will cause them to decide they like being inside better than out there in their natural habitat.
Growing up in south GA, I am not in the least alarmed by roaches. Due to living in an environment where they thrive, multiplying around the clock without regard to seasons, you learn to accept them as part of living in a temperate climate. Here, I can be thankful that the weather is not so warm and lacking real change in seasons that causes small reptiles to invade the house and reproduce regardless of what might be on the calendar page. Any number of times over the years when I was a youngster in extreme south, within walking distance of the Florida line (provided you were a marathon walker) I removed various cold blooded creatures who had squeezed their bodies into a human residence. Lizards, chameleons, and the occasional loose pet turtle. I would guess that over those years when I lived in that house, I probably removed nearly a dozen snakes - yesh, snakes! from the house. Oh, ick. Absolutely. But when the decision is to get them back into their natural habitat or think about where they might go when you turn out the lights and go to bed: you want to be eliminate the likelihood of Mr. No Shoulders residing under the covers.
Innumerable bugs and rodents. Fortunately I was not responsible for ridding the house of small mice, as my dad was super dependable about setting traps and removing things that were deceased as a result of having their little ratty necks snapped. There were often roaches that came in when the weather would encourage them to relocate - just part of living in a place with lots of pine trees and leaf mulch, straw in flower beds surrounding the house.
The current crisis has been ants. Thousands of ants, crawling across the walls along the top edge, heading towards the kitchen sink in search of water, I suppose. The last time we had an invasion I was informed that the 'solution' is Windex. So I got out my spray bottle, added some green ammonia, and started spraying. It killed some: hundreds of little corpses lying on the floor, and around the sink on the counter top. But I know it did not solve the problem. They are just in hiding.
A $95 service call from the bug man, who reportedly sprayed inside and out. He wanted me to be convinced the ants climb trees behind the house, go out on a limb, and drop onto the roof, come in the attic. Plus he said they nest in debris collected in guttering around the edge of the roof. I looked at him as if to say: really? He assured me he has seen this happen in Panama. I did not ask what Panama has to do with middle Georgia. The bug guy said I need to get fire ant poison and sprinkle it all around the house. Took the ninety-five dollars and said 'have a nice day'.
Growing up in south GA, I am not in the least alarmed by roaches. Due to living in an environment where they thrive, multiplying around the clock without regard to seasons, you learn to accept them as part of living in a temperate climate. Here, I can be thankful that the weather is not so warm and lacking real change in seasons that causes small reptiles to invade the house and reproduce regardless of what might be on the calendar page. Any number of times over the years when I was a youngster in extreme south, within walking distance of the Florida line (provided you were a marathon walker) I removed various cold blooded creatures who had squeezed their bodies into a human residence. Lizards, chameleons, and the occasional loose pet turtle. I would guess that over those years when I lived in that house, I probably removed nearly a dozen snakes - yesh, snakes! from the house. Oh, ick. Absolutely. But when the decision is to get them back into their natural habitat or think about where they might go when you turn out the lights and go to bed: you want to be eliminate the likelihood of Mr. No Shoulders residing under the covers.
Innumerable bugs and rodents. Fortunately I was not responsible for ridding the house of small mice, as my dad was super dependable about setting traps and removing things that were deceased as a result of having their little ratty necks snapped. There were often roaches that came in when the weather would encourage them to relocate - just part of living in a place with lots of pine trees and leaf mulch, straw in flower beds surrounding the house.
The current crisis has been ants. Thousands of ants, crawling across the walls along the top edge, heading towards the kitchen sink in search of water, I suppose. The last time we had an invasion I was informed that the 'solution' is Windex. So I got out my spray bottle, added some green ammonia, and started spraying. It killed some: hundreds of little corpses lying on the floor, and around the sink on the counter top. But I know it did not solve the problem. They are just in hiding.
A $95 service call from the bug man, who reportedly sprayed inside and out. He wanted me to be convinced the ants climb trees behind the house, go out on a limb, and drop onto the roof, come in the attic. Plus he said they nest in debris collected in guttering around the edge of the roof. I looked at him as if to say: really? He assured me he has seen this happen in Panama. I did not ask what Panama has to do with middle Georgia. The bug guy said I need to get fire ant poison and sprinkle it all around the house. Took the ninety-five dollars and said 'have a nice day'.
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
when it did ...
...not look like there would be a weekend both us had open at the same time, I asked 'do you have any more vacation days you need to use or loose?' She said she did have a couple of days that need to be taken before the end of the year or they disappear. I try to get to TN to visit once a month, but the end of the year tends to pile up with other commitments. We put our calendars together and planned for me to drive up to Chattanooga on Monday and spend the night and day on Tues. P. said she was having a baby shower for a co-worker and could use some help with preparations for the party. I thought I could be useful with the decorations, but that does not seem to be how things have worked out.
We went to Hobby Lobby, the source of all things crafty this morning, arriving about thirty seconds after they unlocked the doors. Made purchases and moved on to the Just-A-Buck store for some other necessities, then on to Wallyworld for goods to make cookies, apple juice to put in the slow cooker to simmer and make the house smell like the holidays. There does not seem to actually be much I can do to help with early prep. for the shower.
I spent several hours stringing beads, to make Christmas gifts for co-workers in her office. The beads were bought online, and are made of very porous lava rock. They are strung on elastic thread that tends to not stay tied in a knot when you stretch it enough to go over your fist, onto your arm to wear as a bracelet. After viewing a couple of You-tube videos to learn the trick for making knots stay knotted, we find the secret is: a little dot of liquid glue. Guess it's not so secret any longer...
She will gift them to co-workers along with tiny vials of essential oils, different varieties for each recipient to have her preference of aroma. We produced over twenty, with me stringing and her doing the tedious knot-tying-and-gluing part. You add a couple of drops to the porous stones on the bracelet have portable, accessible delicious smell close at hand all day long. Reportedly the bracelets when purchased online, ready-made cost about ten bucks, and she has enough small beads in various sizes to make several dozen when the labor is not included.
We've had a very productive day, plus she has made a double recipe of yummy cookies we have been forced to do a little 'quality control' on to assure they are suitable for human consumption.
We went to Hobby Lobby, the source of all things crafty this morning, arriving about thirty seconds after they unlocked the doors. Made purchases and moved on to the Just-A-Buck store for some other necessities, then on to Wallyworld for goods to make cookies, apple juice to put in the slow cooker to simmer and make the house smell like the holidays. There does not seem to actually be much I can do to help with early prep. for the shower.
I spent several hours stringing beads, to make Christmas gifts for co-workers in her office. The beads were bought online, and are made of very porous lava rock. They are strung on elastic thread that tends to not stay tied in a knot when you stretch it enough to go over your fist, onto your arm to wear as a bracelet. After viewing a couple of You-tube videos to learn the trick for making knots stay knotted, we find the secret is: a little dot of liquid glue. Guess it's not so secret any longer...
She will gift them to co-workers along with tiny vials of essential oils, different varieties for each recipient to have her preference of aroma. We produced over twenty, with me stringing and her doing the tedious knot-tying-and-gluing part. You add a couple of drops to the porous stones on the bracelet have portable, accessible delicious smell close at hand all day long. Reportedly the bracelets when purchased online, ready-made cost about ten bucks, and she has enough small beads in various sizes to make several dozen when the labor is not included.
We've had a very productive day, plus she has made a double recipe of yummy cookies we have been forced to do a little 'quality control' on to assure they are suitable for human consumption.
Sunday, November 25, 2018
while traveling...
... passing through south Georgia where I spent my first seventeen years, I would like to report some interesting sights. A testimony to small agriculture-based communities everywhere, and a sad commentary on how so many rural communities seem to be dying. With no industry or manufacturing to supply employment, and profound lack of jobs in sufficient quantities to keep a younger generation close to their roots, the tax base slowly evaporates. A chicken or the egg conundrum: do the jobs or the workers come first?
Driving across I-10 that runs the length of north Florida and actually takes travelers from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I got off the interstate and went through an even smaller town that had about two blocks of store fronts, facing a railroad track. There might have been three of the buildings occupied with retail businesses. I would guess the shop owners must own the brick buildings where they have their inventory, as I cannot imagine they do enough transactions from week to week to cover rent. The only things that seem to survive in so many little towns are laundro-mats and convenience stores that sell smokes, beer, lottery tickets with gas pumps out front. Sadly, many of those: coin-op laundries and curb stores are so grubby and ratty you hesitate to enter the building.
I wanted to mail a letter, and made several turns to get to the drop box at the post office. The first turn lead me to a fully dressed, completely decked out Santa Claus standing in the street industriously waving at passers-by. I nearly circled the block to take a picture, but was pressed for time, so don't have proof to share. There, standing on the street, actually on the street, barely out of traffic, decked out in red suit with white trim, and fake beard: Santa! I waved heartily but kept moving.
And in an empty lot, in the block where the big two story brick post office (you can see the post building in the center of the photo with the white trim around the top) there sat:
propped up on four concrete blocks, windows down, apparently abandoned. Just parked, with the last driver walking away, to have it scavenged for parts, tires, anything of value. You can rest assured no one will be stealing it at this point: the driver could have left the keys in the ignition, as it is not going anywhere on metal rims.
I stopped to speak to a friend, taking a brief break from driving and driving and driving. Asking about what is going on in that sad little burg. He reported that the city has yet to mail out bills for property taxes for the year. They have historically been due the 15th of December: which is precisely three weeks away from yesterday! The friend reported that the response he got from going to inquire at the city office: shrugging of the shoulders,with hands held open. The universal sign for "I have no idea."
Driving across I-10 that runs the length of north Florida and actually takes travelers from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I got off the interstate and went through an even smaller town that had about two blocks of store fronts, facing a railroad track. There might have been three of the buildings occupied with retail businesses. I would guess the shop owners must own the brick buildings where they have their inventory, as I cannot imagine they do enough transactions from week to week to cover rent. The only things that seem to survive in so many little towns are laundro-mats and convenience stores that sell smokes, beer, lottery tickets with gas pumps out front. Sadly, many of those: coin-op laundries and curb stores are so grubby and ratty you hesitate to enter the building.
I wanted to mail a letter, and made several turns to get to the drop box at the post office. The first turn lead me to a fully dressed, completely decked out Santa Claus standing in the street industriously waving at passers-by. I nearly circled the block to take a picture, but was pressed for time, so don't have proof to share. There, standing on the street, actually on the street, barely out of traffic, decked out in red suit with white trim, and fake beard: Santa! I waved heartily but kept moving.
And in an empty lot, in the block where the big two story brick post office (you can see the post building in the center of the photo with the white trim around the top) there sat:
propped up on four concrete blocks, windows down, apparently abandoned. Just parked, with the last driver walking away, to have it scavenged for parts, tires, anything of value. You can rest assured no one will be stealing it at this point: the driver could have left the keys in the ignition, as it is not going anywhere on metal rims.
I stopped to speak to a friend, taking a brief break from driving and driving and driving. Asking about what is going on in that sad little burg. He reported that the city has yet to mail out bills for property taxes for the year. They have historically been due the 15th of December: which is precisely three weeks away from yesterday! The friend reported that the response he got from going to inquire at the city office: shrugging of the shoulders,with hands held open. The universal sign for "I have no idea."
Saturday, November 24, 2018
468.4...
... miles on Saturday, in addition to making that cookie recipe before leaving at first light to drive to Florida, and get back home in the dark. Driving south to Tallahassee to visit friends, have lunch and see the youngest grand baby, who has some of the sweetest wee little baby teeth that ever appeared in a chubby little mouth.
Across the panhandle on the interstate and back up into Georgia to check on the auntie near Valdosta. I spent about an hour with her, visiting and looking at old photographs reminding her of who people in the pictures are, and how they connect to her. She probably could not search her failing memory at this point and provide the name of her mother: even though she was named for her mom, and they have shared that same name all of her eighty-odd years. She likely forgot I was there before I got to the end of the hallway where she lives, to say nothing of her retaining any thought of my visit long enough for me to get out the front door. This family curse has taken so much, gradually causing personalities and memories to go foggy, fade and eventually disappear.
I went by her house to get another load of stuff that will be donated, recycled or discarded. Some things that were already boxed up, ready to travel, need to be stored until an opportunity to recycle occurs here. City services here provides for disposal of haz-mat. a couple of times each year, so those boxes of old cans of paint, bug spray, lawn chemicals, nearly empty gas cans will have to sit and wait until that day comes around again. Plenty of room to store, and even though my few boxes of chemicals won't make much difference in the face of climate change/global warming, my conscience will know I did the right thing.
There is still some stuff there I need to get out of the house before the estate auction occurs. Some items of family history to be donated or passed along to the oldest male heir. Hopefully accepted at a local museum/historical facility, where they will be agreeable to receiving several things I don't want, and convinced no other family member cares about either. I will contact them to ask if I can bring it, with every intention of leaving it, just walking away and letting it go. Plus there are some binders, filled with who-knows-what accumulated over the years that contain bits of genealogy I plan to pass along to the cousin in Denver. Maybe I should not be sharing this info. as it gives an opportunity for him to start dreaming up excuses, inventing reasons for not accepting the weight of this 'gift' to pass along to the next generation.
After an hour with the auntie and a brief stop by her house, I was ready to finish the 'Stay-and-See-Georgia' tour. Bought some gas at the relatively cheap price of $2.19 and got back on the road, ready to do the 189 miles to get back home. I knew before I left at the break of dawn, I had no business doing all that traveling in one day, putting that many miles on my 'sitter'. As we all know, no other bed sleeps quite like that one you are accustomed to, familiar surroundings, and comforts of home. Into my own warm space for a sound night's rest, one of the many things I am thankful for...
Across the panhandle on the interstate and back up into Georgia to check on the auntie near Valdosta. I spent about an hour with her, visiting and looking at old photographs reminding her of who people in the pictures are, and how they connect to her. She probably could not search her failing memory at this point and provide the name of her mother: even though she was named for her mom, and they have shared that same name all of her eighty-odd years. She likely forgot I was there before I got to the end of the hallway where she lives, to say nothing of her retaining any thought of my visit long enough for me to get out the front door. This family curse has taken so much, gradually causing personalities and memories to go foggy, fade and eventually disappear.
I went by her house to get another load of stuff that will be donated, recycled or discarded. Some things that were already boxed up, ready to travel, need to be stored until an opportunity to recycle occurs here. City services here provides for disposal of haz-mat. a couple of times each year, so those boxes of old cans of paint, bug spray, lawn chemicals, nearly empty gas cans will have to sit and wait until that day comes around again. Plenty of room to store, and even though my few boxes of chemicals won't make much difference in the face of climate change/global warming, my conscience will know I did the right thing.
There is still some stuff there I need to get out of the house before the estate auction occurs. Some items of family history to be donated or passed along to the oldest male heir. Hopefully accepted at a local museum/historical facility, where they will be agreeable to receiving several things I don't want, and convinced no other family member cares about either. I will contact them to ask if I can bring it, with every intention of leaving it, just walking away and letting it go. Plus there are some binders, filled with who-knows-what accumulated over the years that contain bits of genealogy I plan to pass along to the cousin in Denver. Maybe I should not be sharing this info. as it gives an opportunity for him to start dreaming up excuses, inventing reasons for not accepting the weight of this 'gift' to pass along to the next generation.
After an hour with the auntie and a brief stop by her house, I was ready to finish the 'Stay-and-See-Georgia' tour. Bought some gas at the relatively cheap price of $2.19 and got back on the road, ready to do the 189 miles to get back home. I knew before I left at the break of dawn, I had no business doing all that traveling in one day, putting that many miles on my 'sitter'. As we all know, no other bed sleeps quite like that one you are accustomed to, familiar surroundings, and comforts of home. Into my own warm space for a sound night's rest, one of the many things I am thankful for...
peanut butter cookies...
Cannot recall if it was originally published by the baking mix people or the Eagle Brand people, or maybe even peanut council - but that is a complete list of ingredients. I do not actually refer to the recipe card any more, just dump, stir and make little round clumps to smoosh with fork tines and bake for ten minutes. When I give them away, there is usually a dozen in the little zipper bag, as I explain if I had brought more, the recipient would have eaten more and been mad at me for giving.
I do sort of measure the baking mix, but the other stuff: a can of condensed milk and three big glops of peanut butter go in a glass bowl so it can be microwaved together to warm and make the peanut butter easier to stir into the milk. When it is smooth, add the two cups of Bisquick/Pioneer Mix, or whatever brand you prefer. It gets really stiff and hard to stir, but keep at it until all the flour is wet/incorporated into the liquid. Roll between your hands into balls about 1 inch in diameter. Place on baking sheet and lightly press with fork to make little marks - this is essential for announcing to everyone who sees them that they are not something else like sugar cookies: When you see fork prints you know they are peanut butter.
How can you go wrong with just three ingredients? It makes about five dozen. I highly recommend you get them out of the house as soon as possible, so bag them up and give them away, or you will be mad at me for eating the whole recipe... can't say I did not warn you!
Friday, November 23, 2018
book review: "All the Beautiful Girls"...
... written by Elizabeth Church. Sorry, but I cannot provide details about publisher or date of printing, as it has already been returned to the library. Read a couple of weeks ago, and just now finding a note to myself written on the back of a 'to do' list as a reminder to provide the report on a really good read. I enjoyed enough to want to share, but got busy, waylaid and failed to write a review sooner.
"You don't know what you don't know": there are books I check out and take back without finishing, as well as others that are so awful you don't need to know about them. I will occasionally check out something in print that the reviews on the cover or inside front flap make me think might be worth reading, only to find they do not capture my attention enough to keep plodding along - so they go in the drop-off bin without you even knowing they exist. The random recorded book might get me started down the road, then become so tiresome I will quit after a disc, or three, unwilling to spend any more time trying to follow the convoluted plot or myriad characters. That too, is returned without getting to the last line, so you never know about books that are so tedious they should never have been published. Shame on those editors who told the authors they were wonderful, and then convinced their company to publish, only to end up on the shelf at the Just-A-Buck store.
The book starts with Lily being the only survivor of a car accident that killed her parents and sister. She goes to live with her mother's sister and husband. The husband is a pedophile, and molests Lily at night until she reaches puberty. The aunt does nothing to stop him, and is often harsh, seeming to be overbearing and unloving to a child who was traumatized by the death of her immediate family, then subjected to the nighttime visits of her aunt's husband.
The man, a jet pilot, who was the cause of the accident when her family was killed, is obviously consumed with guilt, and begins to anonymously send books and other gifts to Lily. As she grows, he funds dancing lessons, as well as saving to help pay for college. Lily eventually finds out who he is when she discovers old newspaper clippings about the accident, and they become acquainted, with Lily referring to him only as The Aviator.
As soon as Lily finishes high school, she gets on a bus to travel to Las Vegas, hoping to become a dancer in a casino. You will not be surprised as Lily changes, adapts to the lifestyle of a showgirl on the Strip in Vegas. She changes her name to Rose, is befriended by other dancers, as well as making the acquaintance of various unsavory characters who people the casinos. Encountering wealthy men who are accustomed to believing they can have anything they want, with the funds to exert influence on anyone who might initially refuse their demands. Sounds familiar huh, in the news every day?
A story rich in detail, full of well formed characters you come to feel as if you know. I enjoyed reading it, staying up too late, and taking it to work to get in a few minutes on my lunch break. A surprise ending: you will think that The Aviator.... oh, sorry - no spoilers here!
"You don't know what you don't know": there are books I check out and take back without finishing, as well as others that are so awful you don't need to know about them. I will occasionally check out something in print that the reviews on the cover or inside front flap make me think might be worth reading, only to find they do not capture my attention enough to keep plodding along - so they go in the drop-off bin without you even knowing they exist. The random recorded book might get me started down the road, then become so tiresome I will quit after a disc, or three, unwilling to spend any more time trying to follow the convoluted plot or myriad characters. That too, is returned without getting to the last line, so you never know about books that are so tedious they should never have been published. Shame on those editors who told the authors they were wonderful, and then convinced their company to publish, only to end up on the shelf at the Just-A-Buck store.
The book starts with Lily being the only survivor of a car accident that killed her parents and sister. She goes to live with her mother's sister and husband. The husband is a pedophile, and molests Lily at night until she reaches puberty. The aunt does nothing to stop him, and is often harsh, seeming to be overbearing and unloving to a child who was traumatized by the death of her immediate family, then subjected to the nighttime visits of her aunt's husband.
The man, a jet pilot, who was the cause of the accident when her family was killed, is obviously consumed with guilt, and begins to anonymously send books and other gifts to Lily. As she grows, he funds dancing lessons, as well as saving to help pay for college. Lily eventually finds out who he is when she discovers old newspaper clippings about the accident, and they become acquainted, with Lily referring to him only as The Aviator.
As soon as Lily finishes high school, she gets on a bus to travel to Las Vegas, hoping to become a dancer in a casino. You will not be surprised as Lily changes, adapts to the lifestyle of a showgirl on the Strip in Vegas. She changes her name to Rose, is befriended by other dancers, as well as making the acquaintance of various unsavory characters who people the casinos. Encountering wealthy men who are accustomed to believing they can have anything they want, with the funds to exert influence on anyone who might initially refuse their demands. Sounds familiar huh, in the news every day?
A story rich in detail, full of well formed characters you come to feel as if you know. I enjoyed reading it, staying up too late, and taking it to work to get in a few minutes on my lunch break. A surprise ending: you will think that The Aviator.... oh, sorry - no spoilers here!
Thursday, November 22, 2018
a memory of ...
... Thanksgiving from when I was a little kid. Actually there are two: one about my dad, and the other about growing up in a small town in south Georgia, with grandparents nearby. Recently at work, one day this week, I was telling someone about my dad saying the 'sandwich was his favorite part'. Which is sort of strange when most people who gather with family, pot luck dishes, traditional holiday fare do not include anything even remotely resembling sandwiches. There will be a turkey in all it's basted and glazed glory, cornbread dressing topped with gravy, various vegetable side-dishes like green beans, broccoli souffle, rich and creamy casseroles with the slightest bit of veg included, mashed potatoes or rice that will cause you to need to nap afterward. But nowhere in that menu is 'sandwich'.
The thing he liked best about the event (other than anticipation) was having a big enough turkey to provide plenty of leftover slices of meat for the following day. He would have a bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich (bread toasted, please, with home-made mayonnaise) and add a slice or two of turkey to the stack. That right there was his most enjoyable part of the holiday. Usually not actually on the holiday, but constructed and consumed the day after or the day after that, however long the roasted turkey would last before it was turned into soup.
When I was very young, my parents built a house they lived in until my dad died. But as newlyweds with two small children money was understandably tight, and they were not able to buy as much land as they would have liked. The purchased enough to construct a house, and moved in, establishing themselves on the property they could afford. As time went by and they were able to save, they added more real estate, buying the other half of the lot ajacent to the one the house was sitting on. On that now enlarges space, there were a number of trees: pines, sweet gum and some half dozen pecan trees that were part of an orchard planted years before.
For many years, when I was young enough to be in the single digits, I recall my grandpa coming to our house on Thanksgiving day and helping my dad cut down a tree. Most of the trees they cut down were large sweet gums, often described by woodsmen as 'trash trees'. Worthless as timber, that have no value when land is logged over for pulp wood and trees are trailered to a plant to be used to make paper, or sent to sawmills for turning in to lumber for construction.
The interesting part is that this was so long ago, that it took two men to cut a tree down. In this present era of modern conveniences, cleverly designed machines with electric starting systems, it is difficult to realize how trees would be harvested forty or fifty years ago. Long before the gas engine was adapted to be used in sawing: creating chain saws that would cut through massive trunks in a matter of minutes. Not only was it an all day project, he would be digging, chopping with an axe and struggling to uproot that tenacious stump for days afterward, plugging away.
When he was finally to the point that he could stop shoveling dirt out of the hole, after getting the obstinate stump removed, and hauled away, there was always too much dirt left over. There would be a pile of dirt for months, sitting there on the site of the missing tree, mounded up even without the stump there taking up space. How could that be? That the dirt had mysteriously expanded so that there was excess even though he had finally manhandled and uprooted that stump? Did it have to do with the phase of the moon, and digging at the wrong time? Was someone sneaking in dirt to add to that pile his children had delighted in all that time, relishing their ow personal mini-mountain of mud pies? It eventually settled, leveling out, to be turned into lawn or covered with straw for flowerbeds. But even now, it baffles me that they could take that huge stump out of the hole, and still have too much dirt for backfill...
The thing he liked best about the event (other than anticipation) was having a big enough turkey to provide plenty of leftover slices of meat for the following day. He would have a bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich (bread toasted, please, with home-made mayonnaise) and add a slice or two of turkey to the stack. That right there was his most enjoyable part of the holiday. Usually not actually on the holiday, but constructed and consumed the day after or the day after that, however long the roasted turkey would last before it was turned into soup.
When I was very young, my parents built a house they lived in until my dad died. But as newlyweds with two small children money was understandably tight, and they were not able to buy as much land as they would have liked. The purchased enough to construct a house, and moved in, establishing themselves on the property they could afford. As time went by and they were able to save, they added more real estate, buying the other half of the lot ajacent to the one the house was sitting on. On that now enlarges space, there were a number of trees: pines, sweet gum and some half dozen pecan trees that were part of an orchard planted years before.
For many years, when I was young enough to be in the single digits, I recall my grandpa coming to our house on Thanksgiving day and helping my dad cut down a tree. Most of the trees they cut down were large sweet gums, often described by woodsmen as 'trash trees'. Worthless as timber, that have no value when land is logged over for pulp wood and trees are trailered to a plant to be used to make paper, or sent to sawmills for turning in to lumber for construction.
The interesting part is that this was so long ago, that it took two men to cut a tree down. In this present era of modern conveniences, cleverly designed machines with electric starting systems, it is difficult to realize how trees would be harvested forty or fifty years ago. Long before the gas engine was adapted to be used in sawing: creating chain saws that would cut through massive trunks in a matter of minutes. Not only was it an all day project, he would be digging, chopping with an axe and struggling to uproot that tenacious stump for days afterward, plugging away.
When he was finally to the point that he could stop shoveling dirt out of the hole, after getting the obstinate stump removed, and hauled away, there was always too much dirt left over. There would be a pile of dirt for months, sitting there on the site of the missing tree, mounded up even without the stump there taking up space. How could that be? That the dirt had mysteriously expanded so that there was excess even though he had finally manhandled and uprooted that stump? Did it have to do with the phase of the moon, and digging at the wrong time? Was someone sneaking in dirt to add to that pile his children had delighted in all that time, relishing their ow personal mini-mountain of mud pies? It eventually settled, leveling out, to be turned into lawn or covered with straw for flowerbeds. But even now, it baffles me that they could take that huge stump out of the hole, and still have too much dirt for backfill...
second try...
... at a flu immunization when I went back to the Health Department on Tuesday. I cannot report that it was another failure, but ready to tell anyone who will listen what a profoundly irritating experience it was, when I devoted my entire afternoon to doing something that should have taken ten minutes. I was there well over two hours, whiling my time away. And by the time I was finally called for service, I fully expected the reception person behind the glass window to say: 'we are closing for the day, you will have to come back.'
I usually have reading material in my car, and am rarely without some book or magazine to while away the time. There would have been hostility on both sides of the glass window if not for the novel I took in the building after parking half a block away. I am nearly certain all the more convenient parking slots are filled with employees, rather than customers needing services. Why is there never available parking near the entrance? I realize there are a lot of people working in the building, as the buttons on the elevator numbers go up to five. Hundreds of people on the state payroll, which means us is providing for their livelihood - why cannot us find a parking spot on the premises instead of street parking, having to walk half a block just to get in the front door?
I left work early, thinking I was going to meet The Man Who Lives Here at his 2:00 doctor's appointment, after he reported it had been changed from 4:15, when they called him to move it up. I wanted to go along to hear what the dr. had to say, as The Man is not a reliable source of information. If I fail to attend, to hear the conversation in person, and ask for a report afterward, the most/best I usually can expect is: 'Oh, just fine', which is most assuredly Not The Case.
After driving and parking at the doctor's office, I could not find his truck, so called to inquire: 'what's going on?' He said it was the right time, but the wrong day. Needing to get that influenza vaccine to protect both of us, I decided I should go back to the health department (a mile or so away) after that unsuccessful venture last week. It was not a good experience, though the immunization did occur.
The explanation from the nurse who administered the injection: they were short-handed, as several people had called out, not appearing for work. I don't consider that a satisfactory answer as to why I would sit in the waiting area for over two hours, patiently (really! I was not obnoxious, even though the television was tuned to a cartoon channel and was excessively loud) awaiting to be called for a job that should take ten minutes. There were probably ten other people in that spacious area, in need of services - about half of them were drivers, or just accompanying those who needed assistance. So maybe five or six of us who actually would have a reason to be there. By the time I was called, allowed the privilege of entering the inner sanctum - it was after four o'clock, and I was the only one left.
Wanting to get protection from pneumonia, I asked the nurse if some sort of booster was needed for that as well, since I had invested so much time waiting to enter the warren of small exam rooms. Yes, she said, it has been over five years since the first one, and a booster is in order. Guess what? We out! Come back next week, as they will not have the pneumonia vaccine available until next Wednesday. Do you think trying my luck at Walgreens a good option? Yes, I will!
I usually have reading material in my car, and am rarely without some book or magazine to while away the time. There would have been hostility on both sides of the glass window if not for the novel I took in the building after parking half a block away. I am nearly certain all the more convenient parking slots are filled with employees, rather than customers needing services. Why is there never available parking near the entrance? I realize there are a lot of people working in the building, as the buttons on the elevator numbers go up to five. Hundreds of people on the state payroll, which means us is providing for their livelihood - why cannot us find a parking spot on the premises instead of street parking, having to walk half a block just to get in the front door?
I left work early, thinking I was going to meet The Man Who Lives Here at his 2:00 doctor's appointment, after he reported it had been changed from 4:15, when they called him to move it up. I wanted to go along to hear what the dr. had to say, as The Man is not a reliable source of information. If I fail to attend, to hear the conversation in person, and ask for a report afterward, the most/best I usually can expect is: 'Oh, just fine', which is most assuredly Not The Case.
After driving and parking at the doctor's office, I could not find his truck, so called to inquire: 'what's going on?' He said it was the right time, but the wrong day. Needing to get that influenza vaccine to protect both of us, I decided I should go back to the health department (a mile or so away) after that unsuccessful venture last week. It was not a good experience, though the immunization did occur.
The explanation from the nurse who administered the injection: they were short-handed, as several people had called out, not appearing for work. I don't consider that a satisfactory answer as to why I would sit in the waiting area for over two hours, patiently (really! I was not obnoxious, even though the television was tuned to a cartoon channel and was excessively loud) awaiting to be called for a job that should take ten minutes. There were probably ten other people in that spacious area, in need of services - about half of them were drivers, or just accompanying those who needed assistance. So maybe five or six of us who actually would have a reason to be there. By the time I was called, allowed the privilege of entering the inner sanctum - it was after four o'clock, and I was the only one left.
Wanting to get protection from pneumonia, I asked the nurse if some sort of booster was needed for that as well, since I had invested so much time waiting to enter the warren of small exam rooms. Yes, she said, it has been over five years since the first one, and a booster is in order. Guess what? We out! Come back next week, as they will not have the pneumonia vaccine available until next Wednesday. Do you think trying my luck at Walgreens a good option? Yes, I will!
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
my assignment...
... for traveling meal on Thursday is a pumpkin pie and squash casserole. The pie is in the freezer, ready to go. Bought the squash yesterday when I only had to work four hours, knowing that I did not want to wait any later in the week, which would have amounted to standing in the check out line far too long. It is always amazing to be in the grocery business and see what happens on the day before a big holiday, when people are gathering for a meal of epic proportions.
There will be people in line like you would see in stores on Black Friday, or lines on the sidewalk of people who had been camping out for days waiting to get tickets to a much anticipated movie or concert. It's all on-line now so it does not happen as it would pre-Amazon/internet era. But they will definitely be cruising the grocery aisles with two carts, one before and one after, cleaning off the shelves as the preparations begin for a Thanksgiving feast.
The most fascinating part of this is how many people will shop for the main attraction: oversized turkey. The bird will be frozen solid, and likely weigh over twenty pounds. Sizable enough that it would take about a week to thaw if sitting on a shelf in the fridge. How are you going to have it ready to put in the oven on Thursday morning? When you just bought it on Wednesday afternoon and it is a solid block of meat, hard as a hockey puck! Baffling to say the least.
The squash got cooked in my largest pot last night, and put in the auxiliary fridge as soon as I thought it was tender. I will have to drain and put it together when I get home from work today, and complete my assigned responsibility. I woke up thinking about making some deviled egg even though it's not an essential part of the tradition. In fact I don't remember ever seeing the egg platter as part of the abundance on my grandmother's table in years past. But who doesn't like them? Damn the Cholesterol, Full Speed Ahead!
There is no actual recipe for the squash casserole. I just watched her make it over and over and over, and now, just put it together when requested. There is enough squash in that biggest pot, cooked before bedtime last night, to feed the multitudes. But you know how squash is: once you cook till tender, drain and smoosh it, you loose so much of the volume it is about half of what you started with. Dice up onions, which I cook in microwave until tender before adding. Crumble up saltine crackers, add an egg or two. Pepper and salt if you want though I rarely pick up a salt shaker. The secret ingredient is Durkee's Famous Sauce, found on the top shelf of the condiments aisle, above ninety different brands of mayonnaise. Be generous with the Durkee's when spooning it in the mixture. Plenty of grated cheese, and more crushed saltines on top if you want. Bake till you think it's ready, depending on size of casserole dish, about thirty minutes at 350. It's even better the next day, like soup and stew, improving with age as the flavors meld. Yay for grandma. Even people who say they 'don't like squash' or 'don't eat vegetables' will go back for seconds...
Every time I make this, I think of my grandpa who famously said 'squash is a member of the gourd family' every time it would show up on the table. You can imagine how tasteless a cooked gourd would be, right? So you have to add something to it to make it palatable. That's where the Durkee's sauce and onions come in, doing their job to make it delicious, in demand, and even gooder the next day.
There will be people in line like you would see in stores on Black Friday, or lines on the sidewalk of people who had been camping out for days waiting to get tickets to a much anticipated movie or concert. It's all on-line now so it does not happen as it would pre-Amazon/internet era. But they will definitely be cruising the grocery aisles with two carts, one before and one after, cleaning off the shelves as the preparations begin for a Thanksgiving feast.
The most fascinating part of this is how many people will shop for the main attraction: oversized turkey. The bird will be frozen solid, and likely weigh over twenty pounds. Sizable enough that it would take about a week to thaw if sitting on a shelf in the fridge. How are you going to have it ready to put in the oven on Thursday morning? When you just bought it on Wednesday afternoon and it is a solid block of meat, hard as a hockey puck! Baffling to say the least.
The squash got cooked in my largest pot last night, and put in the auxiliary fridge as soon as I thought it was tender. I will have to drain and put it together when I get home from work today, and complete my assigned responsibility. I woke up thinking about making some deviled egg even though it's not an essential part of the tradition. In fact I don't remember ever seeing the egg platter as part of the abundance on my grandmother's table in years past. But who doesn't like them? Damn the Cholesterol, Full Speed Ahead!
There is no actual recipe for the squash casserole. I just watched her make it over and over and over, and now, just put it together when requested. There is enough squash in that biggest pot, cooked before bedtime last night, to feed the multitudes. But you know how squash is: once you cook till tender, drain and smoosh it, you loose so much of the volume it is about half of what you started with. Dice up onions, which I cook in microwave until tender before adding. Crumble up saltine crackers, add an egg or two. Pepper and salt if you want though I rarely pick up a salt shaker. The secret ingredient is Durkee's Famous Sauce, found on the top shelf of the condiments aisle, above ninety different brands of mayonnaise. Be generous with the Durkee's when spooning it in the mixture. Plenty of grated cheese, and more crushed saltines on top if you want. Bake till you think it's ready, depending on size of casserole dish, about thirty minutes at 350. It's even better the next day, like soup and stew, improving with age as the flavors meld. Yay for grandma. Even people who say they 'don't like squash' or 'don't eat vegetables' will go back for seconds...
Every time I make this, I think of my grandpa who famously said 'squash is a member of the gourd family' every time it would show up on the table. You can imagine how tasteless a cooked gourd would be, right? So you have to add something to it to make it palatable. That's where the Durkee's sauce and onions come in, doing their job to make it delicious, in demand, and even gooder the next day.
Monday, November 19, 2018
matching shoes...
... for several hours in the parking lot last Saturday, when the city wide recycling event came to an end. The organization I volunteered myself for was wrapping up their efforts to recycle shoes, and had one big final day for citizens to bring unwanted 'gently worn' shoes to recycle. Any shoes: army boots to slippers, three-inch glitter covered pumps to flip-flops, everything was accepted. I really do hope I will eventually see a photo of those excessively high-heels on some sweet young thing as she sashays through the rain forest.
The plan was to gather up all the unwanted shoes that might go to the thrift store when people get in the right frame of mind to clean out the clutter on the closet floor. You know, of course, you have to be ruthless in order to part with things you have not worn in three or thirteen years, but think you might, maybe, possibly have an opportunity some time in the distant future, right? And then there is the 'fit' factor - those things that looked so good on you forty pounds ago, that you think you might wear when you get serious about loosing the weight in January?
I decided I could do the early shift in the parking lot at the library on Macon Rd., but was soon sent to the other location in a shopping center, where there was a need for more hands to do the pairing. The publicity alerted the community, reporting all shoes could be dropped off at any fire station in town. So there were boxes and boxes and boxes of shoes: un-matched, with mates somewhere down there in the depths of the stinky-moldy-mildewy box, awaiting discovery. Many could be tied together with shoe strings, but others had to be matched, put together with rubber bands to keep them mated. Do you think as they were firmly attached, securely bound together, that they might reproduce in the dark while no one was looking? I started off with gloves on to keep all the 'whatever' off my hands, but took them off at some point. Then felt only marginally clean after washing them four times when I finished my shift!
The goal is to keep them out of the landfill. The bonus is that there is someone somewhere who will pay for the used shoes. They are packed into a cargo container and shipped to a developing country to be used by people who do not have anything on their feets. I do not know if they are 'given' or sold, but suspect they will be sold, since the non-profit gets paid for the shoes by weight, and it definitely will cost something to ship a freight container to central America or Africa.
The plan was to gather up all the unwanted shoes that might go to the thrift store when people get in the right frame of mind to clean out the clutter on the closet floor. You know, of course, you have to be ruthless in order to part with things you have not worn in three or thirteen years, but think you might, maybe, possibly have an opportunity some time in the distant future, right? And then there is the 'fit' factor - those things that looked so good on you forty pounds ago, that you think you might wear when you get serious about loosing the weight in January?
I decided I could do the early shift in the parking lot at the library on Macon Rd., but was soon sent to the other location in a shopping center, where there was a need for more hands to do the pairing. The publicity alerted the community, reporting all shoes could be dropped off at any fire station in town. So there were boxes and boxes and boxes of shoes: un-matched, with mates somewhere down there in the depths of the stinky-moldy-mildewy box, awaiting discovery. Many could be tied together with shoe strings, but others had to be matched, put together with rubber bands to keep them mated. Do you think as they were firmly attached, securely bound together, that they might reproduce in the dark while no one was looking? I started off with gloves on to keep all the 'whatever' off my hands, but took them off at some point. Then felt only marginally clean after washing them four times when I finished my shift!
The goal is to keep them out of the landfill. The bonus is that there is someone somewhere who will pay for the used shoes. They are packed into a cargo container and shipped to a developing country to be used by people who do not have anything on their feets. I do not know if they are 'given' or sold, but suspect they will be sold, since the non-profit gets paid for the shoes by weight, and it definitely will cost something to ship a freight container to central America or Africa.
Saturday, November 17, 2018
forced to research...
... Eleanor Roosevelt. As a result of badgering a friend for several years to propose me as a potential member in an organization that I thought was going to be a book club. You know - where reading material is assigned, and everyone convenes at a coffee shop or conference room in the library to discuss. I ashamedly confess my research was limited exclusively to wikipedia. But it was very informative: so much stuff I had a hard time paring down to be able to squeeze it all in under fifteen minutes.
As it turned out it is not a 'book club' per se, but called the Student's Club. I think it has been around nearly one hundred years, so you can picture in your head what the group looked like when they attended meetings in their Sunday-best frocks, with veiled hats and white gloves tidily arranged. Looking perfectly groomed as they minced about being appropriately delicate and feminine. Drinking their tea in the tiny demitasse cups of finest china with pinkie fingers delicately held aloft, while they partake of cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, sans bread crust. Primly perched on the leading edge of the chair, with ankles carefully crossed, and saucer on a knee.
One person does the work each month, and gives a report on the assigned topic to the assembled group. Why they gave me such a topic I will never know. But once I got started was fascinated by this remarkable First Lady. Eleanor was so busy and involved during her life, the synopsis I found online was forty pages long, probably the abridged version that! I am glad I was forced to read about her - she was the gold standard for White House spouses. No one since has been nearly as stalwart, vocal, capable, well-versed, interested and interesting.
I told the assembled group when I finished my talk, after we spent a few minutes sharing info, discussing what a remarkable ahead-of-her-time person she was, that I felt so well informed I was available for giving my talk to other groups. Wondering if I should sign up for the local speakers bureau, but my scope is so narrow, limited to one amazing individual, it would not take long for that potential career to come to a screeching halt, as I would soon exhaust my audience, crash and burn.
I am well prepared to attend the trivia contest if there are going to be lots of questions about Eleanor.
As it turned out it is not a 'book club' per se, but called the Student's Club. I think it has been around nearly one hundred years, so you can picture in your head what the group looked like when they attended meetings in their Sunday-best frocks, with veiled hats and white gloves tidily arranged. Looking perfectly groomed as they minced about being appropriately delicate and feminine. Drinking their tea in the tiny demitasse cups of finest china with pinkie fingers delicately held aloft, while they partake of cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, sans bread crust. Primly perched on the leading edge of the chair, with ankles carefully crossed, and saucer on a knee.
One person does the work each month, and gives a report on the assigned topic to the assembled group. Why they gave me such a topic I will never know. But once I got started was fascinated by this remarkable First Lady. Eleanor was so busy and involved during her life, the synopsis I found online was forty pages long, probably the abridged version that! I am glad I was forced to read about her - she was the gold standard for White House spouses. No one since has been nearly as stalwart, vocal, capable, well-versed, interested and interesting.
I told the assembled group when I finished my talk, after we spent a few minutes sharing info, discussing what a remarkable ahead-of-her-time person she was, that I felt so well informed I was available for giving my talk to other groups. Wondering if I should sign up for the local speakers bureau, but my scope is so narrow, limited to one amazing individual, it would not take long for that potential career to come to a screeching halt, as I would soon exhaust my audience, crash and burn.
I am well prepared to attend the trivia contest if there are going to be lots of questions about Eleanor.
Friday, November 16, 2018
another not-flu story...
... about the effort I put forth to get immunized unsuccessfully. I know I need to get it done, but tend to put it off as long as possible, due to thinking that there is no point in doing it early. My understanding about how the (killed?) virus that is injected in your person provides a measure of protection is that it does not last forever. If it did, why would you need to have it done each year? If it could provide a long term defense, like tetanus or those MMR pediatricians want to give small children, you would not see advertising on all the signs at pharmacies saying 'it's time for flu shots', right?
The experts in communicable diseases report that the highest likelihood of being exposed, getting infected is late in the winter, after the start of the new year. Which causes me to put off getting the injection as long as possible, often to the point that it is no longer available. This actually happened one year, when I postponed, hoping that waiting would provide the protection into the following year, when the bug is more prevalent, and exposure to germs greater. I waited and waited and waited, thinking I would get maximum defense, when in reality I waited too late. Went to inquire about getting immunized, only to hear: 'we out'. Missed that window of opportunity, but fortunately was not exposed, to be in bed for days plagued by misery of flu symptoms.
My employer offers flu shots. Available to all customers who come in to the pharmacy,make the request, fill out a short form and get poked. Plus they advertise you will receive a ten dollar gift card just for having it done. Most insurance will cover the cost of the immunization, as more companies begin to appreciate the importance of being well, those 'wellness checks', being proactive to keep people healthy. I wanted a flu shot, wanted that ten dollar gift card to buy groceries, but did not want them to know all my business. Which meant I would have to go to a different store from the one where I work to get immunization.
I went to a store to ask for flu shot. Did the paperwork, a short precautionary form to warn you of dangers/risk, then waited for my turn. The staff in the pharmacy said they could not process my information, their computer was down. Well.... OK then.
Plan B: I will go to the county health department, where I have been over the years to get various immunizations: tetanus, flu, pneumonia. It is so difficult to get to the area of that large three story building where they give shots, you need to pack a lunch. But I had time and wanted to get it done. Got to the window with my insurance card in hand. Where I was told they close early one day a month for training. Lucky me - I chose that day. Did I go on the absolutely wrong day for the entire month of November? Yes. Arrrggghhhh.
The experts in communicable diseases report that the highest likelihood of being exposed, getting infected is late in the winter, after the start of the new year. Which causes me to put off getting the injection as long as possible, often to the point that it is no longer available. This actually happened one year, when I postponed, hoping that waiting would provide the protection into the following year, when the bug is more prevalent, and exposure to germs greater. I waited and waited and waited, thinking I would get maximum defense, when in reality I waited too late. Went to inquire about getting immunized, only to hear: 'we out'. Missed that window of opportunity, but fortunately was not exposed, to be in bed for days plagued by misery of flu symptoms.
My employer offers flu shots. Available to all customers who come in to the pharmacy,make the request, fill out a short form and get poked. Plus they advertise you will receive a ten dollar gift card just for having it done. Most insurance will cover the cost of the immunization, as more companies begin to appreciate the importance of being well, those 'wellness checks', being proactive to keep people healthy. I wanted a flu shot, wanted that ten dollar gift card to buy groceries, but did not want them to know all my business. Which meant I would have to go to a different store from the one where I work to get immunization.
I went to a store to ask for flu shot. Did the paperwork, a short precautionary form to warn you of dangers/risk, then waited for my turn. The staff in the pharmacy said they could not process my information, their computer was down. Well.... OK then.
Plan B: I will go to the county health department, where I have been over the years to get various immunizations: tetanus, flu, pneumonia. It is so difficult to get to the area of that large three story building where they give shots, you need to pack a lunch. But I had time and wanted to get it done. Got to the window with my insurance card in hand. Where I was told they close early one day a month for training. Lucky me - I chose that day. Did I go on the absolutely wrong day for the entire month of November? Yes. Arrrggghhhh.
Thursday, November 15, 2018
a not-flu story...
...about someone who attempted to give us the gift that keeps on giving. I remember once some years ago, when an adult child was coming for the holidays, maybe Christmas, though I am not certain what we were celebrating as she headed into town. She was in a sorry state, feeling really low, with what had all the markers ofbeing a debilitating major cold, rapidly turning into flu. Sad, pitiful girl who felt like she had been run over by a big truck, aching, sniffily, congested, general all-round rotten. This was not something we needed at our house.
There was some reason that it was especially risky for her to be sharing that highly contagious bug with loved ones, especially The Man Who Lives Here, with a chronically compromised immune system. Maybe he was recovering from being an inpatient, though I do not recall the particulars to give the reason he would have been hospitalized - just knew we didn't need none of that! So I immediately turned her around instead of welcoming her in, and we made a bee-line for the doctor's office. This is before the era of a free-standing ER on every corner where there is not a bar-b-que stand here in this town that dearly loves burnt meat in a variety of forms. Meaning we actually went to the doctor's office, sat her pitiful self in the waiting room, hoping for a cure.
This story has a happy ending: 'Tamiflu' had just come on the market, and she got a dose, was markedly improved in a matter of hours. No one else had the opportunity to enjoy the gift she was attempting to share, and we all lived to tell about it. This experience, though so far in the past I am sure she cannot recall the extent of the misery, taught her to go to the trouble and expense of getting a flu immunization each fall, as protection against being under the spell of the bug no one wants.
There was some reason that it was especially risky for her to be sharing that highly contagious bug with loved ones, especially The Man Who Lives Here, with a chronically compromised immune system. Maybe he was recovering from being an inpatient, though I do not recall the particulars to give the reason he would have been hospitalized - just knew we didn't need none of that! So I immediately turned her around instead of welcoming her in, and we made a bee-line for the doctor's office. This is before the era of a free-standing ER on every corner where there is not a bar-b-que stand here in this town that dearly loves burnt meat in a variety of forms. Meaning we actually went to the doctor's office, sat her pitiful self in the waiting room, hoping for a cure.
This story has a happy ending: 'Tamiflu' had just come on the market, and she got a dose, was markedly improved in a matter of hours. No one else had the opportunity to enjoy the gift she was attempting to share, and we all lived to tell about it. This experience, though so far in the past I am sure she cannot recall the extent of the misery, taught her to go to the trouble and expense of getting a flu immunization each fall, as protection against being under the spell of the bug no one wants.
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
book review: "All Gone"...
... by an author who is a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, as well as contributing articles to a number of other popular publications. Alex Witchel has also authored three other books, and lives in NYC. The subtitle is "A memoir of my mother's dementia with refreshments" and is really pretty amusing, in spite of the lack of humor normally found in such a depressing, distressing topic.
Throughout the book, which was on a set of five Cds, the author has interspersed recipes she learned to cook as a youth in her mother's kitchen. The family was Jewish, and many of the recipes are kosher. She writes of her experience as she watches the decline of a parent who was a very capable college level teacher, and was an expert at juggling all the things a mother does while working towards a PhD and eventually teaching full time. It is a sweet tale, as a memorial to her mother, while her beloved parents' personality slowly disappears as her brain is encroached upon by this incurable debilitating disease.
Though Witchel had siblings, Alex was the most devoted of the adult children, and choose to take on the responsibility of her mother's medical care. Alex was the one who arranged to go with her mother to doctor's appointments, searched from specialists, questioned medical personnel about efficacy, choices, combinations of prescription meds. She did the work of getting her mom where she needed to be, and keeping records of all the information that needed to be retained. She struggled with second guessing questions from siblings, as well as her dad, who was rarely invested in the process.
You know from the start how the story ends. It was an enjoyable read, with plenty of humor to lighten the on-going expectation and knowledge of the ultimate outcome. Well written and enjoyable, but heart-wrenching as well.
Throughout the book, which was on a set of five Cds, the author has interspersed recipes she learned to cook as a youth in her mother's kitchen. The family was Jewish, and many of the recipes are kosher. She writes of her experience as she watches the decline of a parent who was a very capable college level teacher, and was an expert at juggling all the things a mother does while working towards a PhD and eventually teaching full time. It is a sweet tale, as a memorial to her mother, while her beloved parents' personality slowly disappears as her brain is encroached upon by this incurable debilitating disease.
Though Witchel had siblings, Alex was the most devoted of the adult children, and choose to take on the responsibility of her mother's medical care. Alex was the one who arranged to go with her mother to doctor's appointments, searched from specialists, questioned medical personnel about efficacy, choices, combinations of prescription meds. She did the work of getting her mom where she needed to be, and keeping records of all the information that needed to be retained. She struggled with second guessing questions from siblings, as well as her dad, who was rarely invested in the process.
You know from the start how the story ends. It was an enjoyable read, with plenty of humor to lighten the on-going expectation and knowledge of the ultimate outcome. Well written and enjoyable, but heart-wrenching as well.
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
science tip...
Monday, November 12, 2018
about that research...
... project appointment at Wesley Woods facility on the Emory University campus. All along I thought Emory was in Decatur, but when I put the address into my GPS to help me find the route, there was nothing there. Backed up and started again, asking it to find that same street address in Atlanta, and there it was! One of the questions the young man asked me as he administered all the preliminary evaluation is: 'do you know where we are?' The first time I gave the wrong answer by saying Emory University, when the correct response was 'Atlanta', so now you know!
The study wants people who qualify to take a Rx that has been on the market for a number of years, so this is not testing a new drug. I failed to ask what sort of response they expected from the advertisement in the Atlanta paper, so I don't know how many they are hoping to recruit. Apparently one of the primary requirements is that you would not be on any medications to control blood pressure. That is definitely me, as every time I have been someplace to be tested, mine tends to be on the low end. Within normal, but towards the lower numbers. I don't think I have ever had anyone say it was high, or something I should be concerned about, always within normal range, and usually lower than what ever average is.
There has been some evidence that this already approved drug has some interesting side effects. I have read of meds. that might be prescribed 'off label' for some health matter different than what the drug was designed to do, and different from what the FDA approved. A prescription medication that provided some unexpected effect/improvement to a condition other than what the manufacturer had created it for. This particular study would be using a BP med. called 'candesartan' to see if it might help with cognitive function. Apparently it has been found to improve thinking skills for people who might be showing signs of mild or early memory difficulties.
So... being accepted into the study would definitely be a two-edged sword. I don't think I am having problems - any more severe than others my age, who stay busy and depend on a calendar to keep them headed in the right direction at the right time. One of the last things this young man/ researcher did before letting me go on Friday was to take several vials of blood, that will be evaluated in their lab, and likely the determining factor. I'm thinking they are looking for proteins in the blood, those markers that can be found as early signs of deterioration. I'm hoping I get rejected! I would be happy to be told I am not a good candidate as my thinking is too clear.
The study wants people who qualify to take a Rx that has been on the market for a number of years, so this is not testing a new drug. I failed to ask what sort of response they expected from the advertisement in the Atlanta paper, so I don't know how many they are hoping to recruit. Apparently one of the primary requirements is that you would not be on any medications to control blood pressure. That is definitely me, as every time I have been someplace to be tested, mine tends to be on the low end. Within normal, but towards the lower numbers. I don't think I have ever had anyone say it was high, or something I should be concerned about, always within normal range, and usually lower than what ever average is.
There has been some evidence that this already approved drug has some interesting side effects. I have read of meds. that might be prescribed 'off label' for some health matter different than what the drug was designed to do, and different from what the FDA approved. A prescription medication that provided some unexpected effect/improvement to a condition other than what the manufacturer had created it for. This particular study would be using a BP med. called 'candesartan' to see if it might help with cognitive function. Apparently it has been found to improve thinking skills for people who might be showing signs of mild or early memory difficulties.
So... being accepted into the study would definitely be a two-edged sword. I don't think I am having problems - any more severe than others my age, who stay busy and depend on a calendar to keep them headed in the right direction at the right time. One of the last things this young man/ researcher did before letting me go on Friday was to take several vials of blood, that will be evaluated in their lab, and likely the determining factor. I'm thinking they are looking for proteins in the blood, those markers that can be found as early signs of deterioration. I'm hoping I get rejected! I would be happy to be told I am not a good candidate as my thinking is too clear.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
the research project...
... at Emory Healthcare, where I had an appointment last Friday afternoon to meet for the initial interview went well. I hope I gave all the right answers, though I know when I was asked to count backwards from 100 by sevens I likely failed that one miserably. I told the guy who was asking all the questions I was ready for that one, and wanted him to know my answer was always going to be 93. That's as far as I can get, though it is possible I could do a wee bit better with pencil and paper.
I suppose when I tell people I never learned how to multiply they think I am trying to be funny? I am not, and it is not. It's just the sad truth.
I guess the facility where I was instructed to appear at 1 o'clock: Wesley Woods, is on the Emory campus, but it is in a densely wooded area surrounded by colorful deciduous trees and sort of isolated from any buildings that might look like halls of education. I got there a little late, having stopped at the wrong building knowing I was not in the right place, but not sure where I should be. I was directed to drive a little more into the woods to the next building that apparently is the home for a number of research projects. My driving instructions emphatically stated 'do not go over the bridge', causing me to stop and ask to get pointed in the right direction. Arrived a bit behind schedule, but welcomed. The young man who was to interview me called as I was en route, and I told him I would be there shortly.
He met me and directed me into a little cubicle/exam room and we started with documentation. Lots of pages of questions for him to ask, spaces to record responses. Lots of pages of questions for me to complete. Most of it was related to the study, describing what the goal is, how it will work, and what will be expected of me if I qualify as a participant. I was there nearly two hours, giving answers. I would guess that there were as many questions to be certain I understood what the study was for, how it would work, and answers they hoped to find - as there were evaluating me for memory and general health.
The interviewer was originally from Nigeria, so he had a pretty strong accent, with English not being his primary language. At one point when he said something that had the word 'memory' in the sentence, I questioned him, explaining the word when it came out of his mouth sounded like a body part. He looked so perplexed, I was compelled to explain and said that with his accent the word sounds like' breasts', as in 'mammary': he laughed heartily and said he would certainly be practicing his pronunciation.
I suppose when I tell people I never learned how to multiply they think I am trying to be funny? I am not, and it is not. It's just the sad truth.
I guess the facility where I was instructed to appear at 1 o'clock: Wesley Woods, is on the Emory campus, but it is in a densely wooded area surrounded by colorful deciduous trees and sort of isolated from any buildings that might look like halls of education. I got there a little late, having stopped at the wrong building knowing I was not in the right place, but not sure where I should be. I was directed to drive a little more into the woods to the next building that apparently is the home for a number of research projects. My driving instructions emphatically stated 'do not go over the bridge', causing me to stop and ask to get pointed in the right direction. Arrived a bit behind schedule, but welcomed. The young man who was to interview me called as I was en route, and I told him I would be there shortly.
He met me and directed me into a little cubicle/exam room and we started with documentation. Lots of pages of questions for him to ask, spaces to record responses. Lots of pages of questions for me to complete. Most of it was related to the study, describing what the goal is, how it will work, and what will be expected of me if I qualify as a participant. I was there nearly two hours, giving answers. I would guess that there were as many questions to be certain I understood what the study was for, how it would work, and answers they hoped to find - as there were evaluating me for memory and general health.
The interviewer was originally from Nigeria, so he had a pretty strong accent, with English not being his primary language. At one point when he said something that had the word 'memory' in the sentence, I questioned him, explaining the word when it came out of his mouth sounded like a body part. He looked so perplexed, I was compelled to explain and said that with his accent the word sounds like' breasts', as in 'mammary': he laughed heartily and said he would certainly be practicing his pronunciation.
Saturday, November 10, 2018
thinking about...
...my assignment for Thanksgiving lunch, decided I would purchase needed ingredients to make it early. Bought what I did not have on hand before I left work today, to put it together and go ahead to freeze now, then pull out to thaw and serve after overeating on Thanks day. Amusing to me is that I only make it once a year, but had the list for shopping accurately filed away in my head I did not even pull out the recipe card until I came home. And was able buy supplies to complete the recipe and put it together today to freeze until needed.
The recipe was clipped from a magazine many years ago, glued to a 3 x5 file card to be summoned annually for assembly. It 's the only pumpkin pie I have ever made, so when someone asks me 'how to', I cannot tell details for baking: my version goes in the fridge and never even gets close to the oven. That's about the extent of my cooking these days.
No Bake Pumpkin Pie
1 large pkg vanilla instant pudding
1 cup millk
1 can (16 oz) pumpkin
1 1/2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice (which is a combination of cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg)
8 oz. bowl of thawed, room temp. whipped topping
1 graham cracker pie shell
Mix pudding and milk until well blended, stir in pumpkin and powdered spices. Gently but thoroughly fold in small bowl of thawed whipped topping, spoon into cracker crust. Chill or freeze until ready to slice and serve. Add an extra dollop of topping if you like.
There is another recipe stapled onto this one, that is also a no bake version. But it involves unflavored gelatin plus eggs, so you do actually have to cook it in a sauce pan on the stove, before adding other ingredients and spooning into a pre-baked pastry crust. I'm not giving that one because why would you go to all that effort when you can just slap it together and put in graham cracker shell and put in fridge? 'Way too much effort in my opinion! Plus the one with the whipped topping is mostly air so you can over-eat and stuff your self with too much turkey and dressing, gravy and rolls and still have room for a wedge of pie.
Friday, November 9, 2018
book review: "Plain Truth"...
... picked off the shelf in the library specifically because of the author: Jodi Picoult. After recently reading/listening to "Leaving Time", I wanted to see what else I might find by her as she has been prolific. Went to poke around in the stacks to find several others, making the difficult decision to choose only one, as they are all fairly hefty and time consuming to devour. I will certainly be back for more as this one was un-put-down-able. In fact, even though it is a library book, I have passed it along to a friend who reads, and has enjoyed books about the Amish communities in Pennsylvania.
The two main characters are an attorney, Ellie, and a young Amish girl, Katie. Ellie has taken a break from a well-established practice in the city to go to the Lancaster area and visit her aunt, who was raised Amish, but chose to marry an Englisher. The aunt was forced out of the Amish community, but still keeps in touch with her sister, who is Katie's mom. While Ellie thinks she will enjoy a breather from stress of courtroom conflict, she is recruited into representing Katie, who is accused of first degree murder. Katie gave birth in her families' dairy barn, and the infant is found dead.
Katie insists she did not have this baby, that she was not pregnant. The proof is obviously there, and much legal wrangling ensues. An autopsy is done, Medical tests performed, and the lab work indicates the baby was suffocated. Ellie, who thought she was going to enjoy a respite from a high pressure job, ends up moving in with the Amish family as a distant relation, when Katie is released from into her custody.
It is a fascinating story, well researched, with many details of the ways of Plain people. Lots of insight into their lifestyles, helping the reader to get into the mind set of a community that is markedly different from the mainstream thought of the average American citizen. Though they live in the midst of our society, they choose to keep to traditional ways in their business life as well as religious activities. The characters were so real, so complete, so human in their opposing beliefs it was difficult to see the book come to an end. You could get so wrapped up in these individuals, feeling like you are right there with them as they are living this confusing event filled with conflicting ideals, you want to give advice, help them come to a satisfactory resolution.
The two main characters are an attorney, Ellie, and a young Amish girl, Katie. Ellie has taken a break from a well-established practice in the city to go to the Lancaster area and visit her aunt, who was raised Amish, but chose to marry an Englisher. The aunt was forced out of the Amish community, but still keeps in touch with her sister, who is Katie's mom. While Ellie thinks she will enjoy a breather from stress of courtroom conflict, she is recruited into representing Katie, who is accused of first degree murder. Katie gave birth in her families' dairy barn, and the infant is found dead.
Katie insists she did not have this baby, that she was not pregnant. The proof is obviously there, and much legal wrangling ensues. An autopsy is done, Medical tests performed, and the lab work indicates the baby was suffocated. Ellie, who thought she was going to enjoy a respite from a high pressure job, ends up moving in with the Amish family as a distant relation, when Katie is released from into her custody.
It is a fascinating story, well researched, with many details of the ways of Plain people. Lots of insight into their lifestyles, helping the reader to get into the mind set of a community that is markedly different from the mainstream thought of the average American citizen. Though they live in the midst of our society, they choose to keep to traditional ways in their business life as well as religious activities. The characters were so real, so complete, so human in their opposing beliefs it was difficult to see the book come to an end. You could get so wrapped up in these individuals, feeling like you are right there with them as they are living this confusing event filled with conflicting ideals, you want to give advice, help them come to a satisfactory resolution.
driving to ...
... Decatur today, to keep an appointment made a couple of weeks ago. When recently visiting with the cousin who lives there, she pointed out an advertisement printed in the Sunday Atlanta newspaper. Providing contact information about a study that is taking place at Emory University, for people who might be interested in participating in research on dementia. The cousin said she was thinking she would call to get more info., so I got the number and made the contact when I got home.
It was one of those aggravating calls where you think someone is pulling prank on you, with recording directing you through a series of voice mail prompts. Sending you down a profoundly frustrating path that causes you to give up, disconnect with steam coming out of your ears, highly aggravated at the complete lack of results. Undecided about whether another attempt will bring desired results or just another bump up in blood pressure. Looking back, I feel like I went through over a dozen different options, attempting to connect with a real person, who might actually talk to me, instead of the 'if/then' numbers to press for proceeding down the rabbit hole of endless tribulations of plague-ing prompts.
Eventually finding a living breathing human, though not one with any information about the study, I was told someone would call me back. I spoke to a representative the following day, who was able to provide me with answers, and ask enough questions to determine if I would be a good candidate. Which explains why I will steel my nerves and drive to Emory today. There are a number of preliminary things to be done, testing and evaluations to decide about my suitability for being a participant. The only thing that makes me anxious thus far is the prospect of having to get an MRI done, being enclosed in the equipment that feels like a narrow tunnel while a scan is done. Just thinking about that makes my heart race, so hopefully there will be some accommodation for avoiding that particular requirement.
I don't mind giving blood, or answering questions, even though I might be cheating as I have reviewed the questions on the Mini-Mental Exam for practice. I cannot do math, and know one of the questions is to count backwards by sevens: Having never mastered multiplication, I readily admit to a profound lack of math skills. I can count by twos or fives or tens, backwards and forward, but never by seven. So we will see how that goes.... It would be pretty disheartening to get the news I had failed math again, after all these years!
It was one of those aggravating calls where you think someone is pulling prank on you, with recording directing you through a series of voice mail prompts. Sending you down a profoundly frustrating path that causes you to give up, disconnect with steam coming out of your ears, highly aggravated at the complete lack of results. Undecided about whether another attempt will bring desired results or just another bump up in blood pressure. Looking back, I feel like I went through over a dozen different options, attempting to connect with a real person, who might actually talk to me, instead of the 'if/then' numbers to press for proceeding down the rabbit hole of endless tribulations of plague-ing prompts.
Eventually finding a living breathing human, though not one with any information about the study, I was told someone would call me back. I spoke to a representative the following day, who was able to provide me with answers, and ask enough questions to determine if I would be a good candidate. Which explains why I will steel my nerves and drive to Emory today. There are a number of preliminary things to be done, testing and evaluations to decide about my suitability for being a participant. The only thing that makes me anxious thus far is the prospect of having to get an MRI done, being enclosed in the equipment that feels like a narrow tunnel while a scan is done. Just thinking about that makes my heart race, so hopefully there will be some accommodation for avoiding that particular requirement.
I don't mind giving blood, or answering questions, even though I might be cheating as I have reviewed the questions on the Mini-Mental Exam for practice. I cannot do math, and know one of the questions is to count backwards by sevens: Having never mastered multiplication, I readily admit to a profound lack of math skills. I can count by twos or fives or tens, backwards and forward, but never by seven. So we will see how that goes.... It would be pretty disheartening to get the news I had failed math again, after all these years!
when a customer....
...comes along wanting to purchase balloons, I am usually the person who will stop another task and go fill with helium. Everyone I work with is capable of doing it, and there is often someone much closer to the tank, sitting in the floral area. But they will all look up when they hear about a 'customer needing service', hoping they will not be the one to do it. Thinking if they wait long enough I will drop everything and trot up to the customer awaiting assistance and offer to help. Either filling the ones purchased on line, or the balloons chosen from our selection.
I was at work last Sunday, talking to a customer as I filled the balloons she wanted for a birthday party. I noticed one of the Mylars she wanted had 'sweet sixteen' on it, and thought of daughters who are so excited about getting driving permits. Teenagers thinking of that time when they pass the milestone, reach the age of thinking they are capable of independent driving. I told the customer I had a story to tell her, that was not amusing when it happened, but now so far in the past the daughter willingly tells it on herself.
The day she turned sixteen and got her license to drive was a Wednesday. I know that because we attended a mid-week dinner at church, and she asked if she could drive home. Which was not a big deal, because I would be in the passenger seat, and her younger sister would be along as well. I don't recall if I was the cook/kitchen worker, but it has been so long ago I think not. We just went to eat, have a short program and go home. Leaving her dad at church for choir practice, with daughters needing to finish school work and get to bed.
I am still, after nearly twenty years, not sure just exactly what happened when we got home. But there was an accident that occurred with the newly minted independent driver: She drove into the carport and did not stop when she got close to the back wall. Crashing into the sheet rock and busting the hot water heater that was in the storage room on the other side of the wall. My guess is that she meant to apply the brake and pressed on the accelerator instead. It was definitely not the first occasion for her driving into the carport, as she had been practicing for a year with a 'learner's permit'. It just happened and there we sat, stunned at the results.
That's what you have insurance for, right?
I relayed the Cliff's Notes version of this story to the balloon customer, and said the lesson to be learned from the tale was fairly simple. I recommended that she just not let the daughter drive all the way into the carport. Tell her 'just stop right here, I will move it later', as protection against having to purchase a brand new water heater! I'm glad we can all laugh about it now, as it was sad and pretty traumatic when it happened. Thankful we do not have PTSD from an exploding water heater...
I was at work last Sunday, talking to a customer as I filled the balloons she wanted for a birthday party. I noticed one of the Mylars she wanted had 'sweet sixteen' on it, and thought of daughters who are so excited about getting driving permits. Teenagers thinking of that time when they pass the milestone, reach the age of thinking they are capable of independent driving. I told the customer I had a story to tell her, that was not amusing when it happened, but now so far in the past the daughter willingly tells it on herself.
The day she turned sixteen and got her license to drive was a Wednesday. I know that because we attended a mid-week dinner at church, and she asked if she could drive home. Which was not a big deal, because I would be in the passenger seat, and her younger sister would be along as well. I don't recall if I was the cook/kitchen worker, but it has been so long ago I think not. We just went to eat, have a short program and go home. Leaving her dad at church for choir practice, with daughters needing to finish school work and get to bed.
I am still, after nearly twenty years, not sure just exactly what happened when we got home. But there was an accident that occurred with the newly minted independent driver: She drove into the carport and did not stop when she got close to the back wall. Crashing into the sheet rock and busting the hot water heater that was in the storage room on the other side of the wall. My guess is that she meant to apply the brake and pressed on the accelerator instead. It was definitely not the first occasion for her driving into the carport, as she had been practicing for a year with a 'learner's permit'. It just happened and there we sat, stunned at the results.
That's what you have insurance for, right?
I relayed the Cliff's Notes version of this story to the balloon customer, and said the lesson to be learned from the tale was fairly simple. I recommended that she just not let the daughter drive all the way into the carport. Tell her 'just stop right here, I will move it later', as protection against having to purchase a brand new water heater! I'm glad we can all laugh about it now, as it was sad and pretty traumatic when it happened. Thankful we do not have PTSD from an exploding water heater...
Wednesday, November 7, 2018
up early...
... and don't know why. It is, I suppose, a combination of the change of time, when my brain has yet to catch up with that adjustment made by 'falling back' from Daylight Savings to what ever is 'normal'... and just not sleeping well. When you have to physically get the clock down off the wall, and turn it over to reset the hour hand because the government made the decision for you: it seems ridiculous. Or get the book out of the glove box and find the page that tells you how to reset the digital numbers on the dash of your vehicle so your eyes don't deceive you every time you check the clock. It is so aggravating... And then there is the part where, after all the clocks are reset, you can start griping about how it gets dark soooo early in the evening.
But you will most certainly be out of step with the rest of the nation and society in general if you don't make the shift on all your time pieces. It just takes much longer for your brain to adjust to that change. Possibly due to the reduced levels of some chemical the brain is supposed to manufacture: not having been reset for sending out messages to say 'don't get up, no reason to jump out of bed!' I expect to get up early on days I have to be at work before daylight, walking in the door ready to jump in at 5 or 6 a.m.
But on days when there is nothing demanding in my life, it would be a treat to turn over and go back to sleep, get a bit more rest before starting daily activities. I could read, and stay in that nice warm space for hours - but there is the Guilt Factor: you are not being productive when there are always chores that should be accomplished.
I've got little things on my calendar for the rest of the week, but nothing major: doctor's appt. with spouse, lunch date with a friend, odds and ends that don't take up the whole day. Work has been so slow, I have finished with the little bit of schedule for the week, leaving me sort of at loose ends as I was only assigned ten hours. Odd to find that labor hours have been so reduced as we barrel into the holiday season, a time of gluttony and increased sales in retail grocery business. I know it will pick up, and can expect plenty of paid employment in the upcoming days and weeks... as well as a few pounds from consuming things I should not be putting in my mouth!
But you will most certainly be out of step with the rest of the nation and society in general if you don't make the shift on all your time pieces. It just takes much longer for your brain to adjust to that change. Possibly due to the reduced levels of some chemical the brain is supposed to manufacture: not having been reset for sending out messages to say 'don't get up, no reason to jump out of bed!' I expect to get up early on days I have to be at work before daylight, walking in the door ready to jump in at 5 or 6 a.m.
But on days when there is nothing demanding in my life, it would be a treat to turn over and go back to sleep, get a bit more rest before starting daily activities. I could read, and stay in that nice warm space for hours - but there is the Guilt Factor: you are not being productive when there are always chores that should be accomplished.
I've got little things on my calendar for the rest of the week, but nothing major: doctor's appt. with spouse, lunch date with a friend, odds and ends that don't take up the whole day. Work has been so slow, I have finished with the little bit of schedule for the week, leaving me sort of at loose ends as I was only assigned ten hours. Odd to find that labor hours have been so reduced as we barrel into the holiday season, a time of gluttony and increased sales in retail grocery business. I know it will pick up, and can expect plenty of paid employment in the upcoming days and weeks... as well as a few pounds from consuming things I should not be putting in my mouth!
living in...
... the land of the free and the home of the brave comes with obligations.If you did not exercise your rights on Nov. 6, you do not get to gripe about what choices the majority of the citizens made. I had the best intentions about getting to the polls early. Meant to take advantage of the opportunity to go to the Citizens Service Center and cast my ballot over several weeks prior to the actual official Election Day. But I dragged my feets, and though there were literally weeks of opportunity, it didn't happen.
Meaning I had to go yesterday, and stand in line. A number of people who were already there, as well as many who came in behind me commented on how smart I was to have a book handy. I did not tell them I always have reading material on hand. I did not say: "If I was really smart,I would not be here at all." I did not say "I started to do this last Friday, but the parking lot was so full I would not go and wait in line for two hours." I did not ask: "Do you want me to read to you while we wait?" as many were scrolling through junk on their phones, or playing games on electronics whiling away the time.
The wait was only about thirty minutes. Which was not bad, due to the fact that I have been reading on a book that is hard to put down. Then I saw someone I know working the polls, so we started a conversation. I asked him how he got the job, and he responded it takes no skill. And the most minimal of training. All he was doing was pointing the next patron in line to the recently abandoned voting machine. Where you go and insert your card, make your choices, remove your card and return it to the poll worker, who then gives you a peach 'Georgia voter' sticker.
I surprised myself by going through the choices on the ballot and pretty much trying to put Democrats in all the jobs that were open for change. I tend to try to get the incumbents out, thinking anyone in office has gotten too comfortable, sitting in that cushy chair, living on government pay. I did not realize so many of the people I am supporting with my tax dollars are fat-cat Republicans. Have not heard any news this morning. In fact have not heard a sound other than cars making their way down the street accelerating towards workplace. But I sincerely hope there were enough people who think it is time for a change that there will be new people in places of responsibility and decision making next year.
I saw a sign in front of a church recently that was very thought-y: If the Elephant and the Donkey have let you down, turn to the Lamb.
Meaning I had to go yesterday, and stand in line. A number of people who were already there, as well as many who came in behind me commented on how smart I was to have a book handy. I did not tell them I always have reading material on hand. I did not say: "If I was really smart,I would not be here at all." I did not say "I started to do this last Friday, but the parking lot was so full I would not go and wait in line for two hours." I did not ask: "Do you want me to read to you while we wait?" as many were scrolling through junk on their phones, or playing games on electronics whiling away the time.
The wait was only about thirty minutes. Which was not bad, due to the fact that I have been reading on a book that is hard to put down. Then I saw someone I know working the polls, so we started a conversation. I asked him how he got the job, and he responded it takes no skill. And the most minimal of training. All he was doing was pointing the next patron in line to the recently abandoned voting machine. Where you go and insert your card, make your choices, remove your card and return it to the poll worker, who then gives you a peach 'Georgia voter' sticker.
I surprised myself by going through the choices on the ballot and pretty much trying to put Democrats in all the jobs that were open for change. I tend to try to get the incumbents out, thinking anyone in office has gotten too comfortable, sitting in that cushy chair, living on government pay. I did not realize so many of the people I am supporting with my tax dollars are fat-cat Republicans. Have not heard any news this morning. In fact have not heard a sound other than cars making their way down the street accelerating towards workplace. But I sincerely hope there were enough people who think it is time for a change that there will be new people in places of responsibility and decision making next year.
I saw a sign in front of a church recently that was very thought-y: If the Elephant and the Donkey have let you down, turn to the Lamb.
Monday, November 5, 2018
263.5...
... miles from Mr. Homer's house in SC to my carport. Plus I drove up to SC early this morning, after spending the night in Decatur. So I guess I will go to bed now...due to having to go to work in the morning.
Saturday, November 3, 2018
painting again...
... on little faces today when I have a volunteer job at a nature center on the south edge of town. The facility is run (and possibly owned) by Columbus State University, at least that is their primary funding source, though I believe it was initially developed and supported by the city/county government and possibly various environmental organizations. Designed to preserve natural habitat for study and protection of some of the native species, there are a number of animals (incarcerated) for visitors to see, observe, possibly interact with in the sense of stroking or petting reptiles that might be considered fairly inert. Amphibians such as turtles, insects like hairy spiders, reptiles that might be (harmless) snakes. None of which I will be in the proper frame of mind to handle.
My job assignment is to help' man' a booth/table representing the local Master Gardening group, sponsored by the University of Georgia School of Agriculture. There is a good likelihood there will be printed matter that provides info. about various native species, habitat, environmental preservation as well as promotional flyers to recruit for the next class of gardeners, sponsored by the county agent's office. I will go and answer a few questions, and refer others to the people who are much more active andbetter informed, with me being one of the few volunteers who is still employed rather than retired.
The purpose of this event is awareness, to invite the community to come and visit the site, learn more about the programs, entice them to return and support the facility. This day in early November has been identified in the past as "Insect-ival", but apparently the theme has been slightly altered to be more focused on Harry Potter lore. Which I know virtually nothing about, other than it involves going to Majick School. My plan is to take that same box of acrylic paints, brushes and my little poster with several design choices and offer to put spiders or bugs on faces or hands. Mostly the same choices as the attendees of the Fall Festival/Plant Sale at the Botanical Gardens had last week, with the subtraction of pumpkins and ghosts, and the addition of a caterpillar and butterfly.
You can get a green slippery slithery snake with a red sneaky tongue, or a purple spider with brightly frightening yellow beady eyes. A bright red lady bug with dots on her back, or a wiggly multi-legged caterpillar inching along your arm. Bright orange butterfly with wiggly feelers and long tickle-y black legs or yellow " :)" on your cheek, all of which will probably be gone long before you get a soaking in the tub at bedtime.
My job assignment is to help' man' a booth/table representing the local Master Gardening group, sponsored by the University of Georgia School of Agriculture. There is a good likelihood there will be printed matter that provides info. about various native species, habitat, environmental preservation as well as promotional flyers to recruit for the next class of gardeners, sponsored by the county agent's office. I will go and answer a few questions, and refer others to the people who are much more active andbetter informed, with me being one of the few volunteers who is still employed rather than retired.
The purpose of this event is awareness, to invite the community to come and visit the site, learn more about the programs, entice them to return and support the facility. This day in early November has been identified in the past as "Insect-ival", but apparently the theme has been slightly altered to be more focused on Harry Potter lore. Which I know virtually nothing about, other than it involves going to Majick School. My plan is to take that same box of acrylic paints, brushes and my little poster with several design choices and offer to put spiders or bugs on faces or hands. Mostly the same choices as the attendees of the Fall Festival/Plant Sale at the Botanical Gardens had last week, with the subtraction of pumpkins and ghosts, and the addition of a caterpillar and butterfly.
You can get a green slippery slithery snake with a red sneaky tongue, or a purple spider with brightly frightening yellow beady eyes. A bright red lady bug with dots on her back, or a wiggly multi-legged caterpillar inching along your arm. Bright orange butterfly with wiggly feelers and long tickle-y black legs or yellow " :)" on your cheek, all of which will probably be gone long before you get a soaking in the tub at bedtime.
Friday, November 2, 2018
day number eight...
... of substitute teaching, in a Kindergarten class up on the north side of town. I took the assignment on Thursday, knowing I did not have anything of importance on my calendar for today, and hoping to gradually accumulate the necessary minimum of work days to stay in the good graces of the school district. Why, I cannot say, though I know I should put some thought into that. Now I can said say I'm nearly halfway to the goal of twenty. Whoopee....
I know I should expect, as the para-professional, supporting the teacher, that I will have lunch room duty for about thirty minutes in addition to maintaining a semblance of order with the assigned class while they are eating. That equals an hour of time in a chaotic cafeteria with kids who could not possibly care about actually eating while they are temporarily reprieved from learning. They are loud, unruly, sloppy, messy, indifferent to the food choices they actually made when they entered the classroom at 8 a.m.
Did I say Loud? It was pandemonium. As soon as I got into the lunchroom with those two dozen five year olds, I remembered that particular locale as the place I once got the start of a headache it took me the rest of the day to loose. I asked another of the adults assigned to police the students if it is always that awful, she reported that one day recently it took five teachers to get the noise level under control. That's not normal, folks!
As a result of the chronic, but fairly mild, pain in my hand, I conveniently had drugs in my pocket to abate the symptoms of the impending problem. I was taking OTC meds before I ever left the room where the chaos ensued. And after that short but beneficial nap when I got home, am feeling none of the symptoms that followed me home the last time I was in that situation.
I know I should expect, as the para-professional, supporting the teacher, that I will have lunch room duty for about thirty minutes in addition to maintaining a semblance of order with the assigned class while they are eating. That equals an hour of time in a chaotic cafeteria with kids who could not possibly care about actually eating while they are temporarily reprieved from learning. They are loud, unruly, sloppy, messy, indifferent to the food choices they actually made when they entered the classroom at 8 a.m.
Did I say Loud? It was pandemonium. As soon as I got into the lunchroom with those two dozen five year olds, I remembered that particular locale as the place I once got the start of a headache it took me the rest of the day to loose. I asked another of the adults assigned to police the students if it is always that awful, she reported that one day recently it took five teachers to get the noise level under control. That's not normal, folks!
As a result of the chronic, but fairly mild, pain in my hand, I conveniently had drugs in my pocket to abate the symptoms of the impending problem. I was taking OTC meds before I ever left the room where the chaos ensued. And after that short but beneficial nap when I got home, am feeling none of the symptoms that followed me home the last time I was in that situation.
book review: "The Wolves of Winter"...
... by Tyrell Johnson. I chose it randomly, and was surprised to find it so captivating I could not put it down. I did not expect to really get into the story, but checked it out with a couple of others and thought: 'you don't have to read it if it won't get started, just take it back', but I had to go to bed early last night to finish it - and was so alert when I got past the crisis, and to a satisfactory end, I was too wide awake to go to sleep!
Several reviews on the back cover made me think it would be somewhat similar to those movies made from novels that were designed to appeal to the younger, theater-going set. Compared to survival situations and characters in the 'Hunger Games' and other adventuresome post-apocalyptic tales, this one is set in the Yukon province of Canada where the family went to try to keep safe from a deadly flu virus. The lead character is a young adult in her twenties, Gwendolynn, who has been trained by her dad in outdoor skills: bow-hunting, fishing, survival know-how. Living a primitive, subsistence life in an isolated area with extended family in hand built log shelters.
The group is finds a wandering man, takes him in, feeds him, only to find he is being hunted by others who want him as proof they have the cure for the deadly virus. Gwen is taken captive, and forced to donate blood to someone who miraculously improves, demonstrating that Gwen also has this remarkable virus-proof strain. Gwen escapes, only to be chased by the scientists and their hired hands. The baddies are without redeeming features, vastly outnumber the her family, and descend on the isolated valley where they family live, determined to recapture Gwen and find that mysterious virus-proof man.
It would make a great movie, with lots of chase scenes, blood splashed across the screen numerous times, bad guys decimated in a variety of interesting ways. Plenty of action to keep you turning the pages, with the hope the human race will survive, and the planet might recover from the troubles we brought on ourselves.
I am sitting here typing this, while the television is on, running an adv for a flu-immunization. The whole premise of the novel was the government hoped to infect a population they wished to subjugate, and accidentally killed most of the inhabitants of the planet. It makes me a little uneasy as I consider the prospect of going to get immunized to prevent the suffering and days of misery that accompanies a case of influenza. Have not had the flu in many years, and do not relish the thought- but what is in that injection they say will prevent it?
Several reviews on the back cover made me think it would be somewhat similar to those movies made from novels that were designed to appeal to the younger, theater-going set. Compared to survival situations and characters in the 'Hunger Games' and other adventuresome post-apocalyptic tales, this one is set in the Yukon province of Canada where the family went to try to keep safe from a deadly flu virus. The lead character is a young adult in her twenties, Gwendolynn, who has been trained by her dad in outdoor skills: bow-hunting, fishing, survival know-how. Living a primitive, subsistence life in an isolated area with extended family in hand built log shelters.
The group is finds a wandering man, takes him in, feeds him, only to find he is being hunted by others who want him as proof they have the cure for the deadly virus. Gwen is taken captive, and forced to donate blood to someone who miraculously improves, demonstrating that Gwen also has this remarkable virus-proof strain. Gwen escapes, only to be chased by the scientists and their hired hands. The baddies are without redeeming features, vastly outnumber the her family, and descend on the isolated valley where they family live, determined to recapture Gwen and find that mysterious virus-proof man.
It would make a great movie, with lots of chase scenes, blood splashed across the screen numerous times, bad guys decimated in a variety of interesting ways. Plenty of action to keep you turning the pages, with the hope the human race will survive, and the planet might recover from the troubles we brought on ourselves.
I am sitting here typing this, while the television is on, running an adv for a flu-immunization. The whole premise of the novel was the government hoped to infect a population they wished to subjugate, and accidentally killed most of the inhabitants of the planet. It makes me a little uneasy as I consider the prospect of going to get immunized to prevent the suffering and days of misery that accompanies a case of influenza. Have not had the flu in many years, and do not relish the thought- but what is in that injection they say will prevent it?
Thursday, November 1, 2018
book review: "Leaving Time"...
... written by well known author Jody Picoult. It was a long book: 12 Cds that, if listened to without a break, would take eighteen hours to finish. It took me at least a week, as it was only heard when I was driving although I was fascinated by the story. I have read other work by this author, and expected this book would be as well written and enjoyable.
The tale was related from different viewpoints, with various voices reading each character as the story was woven together. Alice is a scientist, her specialty being an interest in elephants, focusing on how they deal with grief. We first met her when she was working in a reserve in Africa.Where she met Thomas, visiting from an elephant sanctuary in Connecticut. Alice and Thomas became a couple, as they found they had much in common when Thomas was visiting where Alice worked. Alice falls for this guy, and becomes pregnant, and moves to the States, working in the preserve in New England. The baby comes, named Jenna.
Much of the story is told in retrospect, with the characters telling the events from their individual perspective: Jenna is searching for her mom, who disappears after an incident at the Elephant Preserve where a worker is killed. Jenna, now thirteen, has been reading her mother's detailed journals, records of her observations as a researcher, student of animal behavior, trying to decipher clues that would help her find her missing parent. Her dad had a breakdown and was institutionalized after the death of that worker, and cannot help with the search.
Jenna seeks the assistance of a local psychic, expecting Serenity to be able to discern if her mom is dead. Serenity gets no 'vibes' that would lead her to believe Alice is no longer living, yet they can find no trace of her. Jenna contacts law enforcement, hoping to find the detective who was involved in the case a decade ago. Virgil, Serenity and Jenna are an unlikely group, combine forces in an effort to unravel clues that begin to surface after many years. They make a trip from New England to the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee, hoping to find the people who worked at the facility before it was disbanded after Alice vanished. There is a Very Surprising twist at the end, that I will not reveal, other than to say Nothing Is As It Appears.
Due to personal fascination with elephants, I especially enjoyed the information included in the book when shared from the scientist/Alice viewpoint. Picoult did a tremendous amount of research, reading about elephant behavior and shared much of her knowledge in writing from the perspective of one who would spend hours sitting observing these massive animals in their daily activities. Her characters were well formed, with many details added to make each individual seem to come to life, especially as the text was read by different age appropriate voices. A list of the references used by the author was given at the end of the twelve discs, sharing the sources, books she used to help create the fascinating world of elephants and their caretakers.
The tale was related from different viewpoints, with various voices reading each character as the story was woven together. Alice is a scientist, her specialty being an interest in elephants, focusing on how they deal with grief. We first met her when she was working in a reserve in Africa.Where she met Thomas, visiting from an elephant sanctuary in Connecticut. Alice and Thomas became a couple, as they found they had much in common when Thomas was visiting where Alice worked. Alice falls for this guy, and becomes pregnant, and moves to the States, working in the preserve in New England. The baby comes, named Jenna.
Much of the story is told in retrospect, with the characters telling the events from their individual perspective: Jenna is searching for her mom, who disappears after an incident at the Elephant Preserve where a worker is killed. Jenna, now thirteen, has been reading her mother's detailed journals, records of her observations as a researcher, student of animal behavior, trying to decipher clues that would help her find her missing parent. Her dad had a breakdown and was institutionalized after the death of that worker, and cannot help with the search.
Jenna seeks the assistance of a local psychic, expecting Serenity to be able to discern if her mom is dead. Serenity gets no 'vibes' that would lead her to believe Alice is no longer living, yet they can find no trace of her. Jenna contacts law enforcement, hoping to find the detective who was involved in the case a decade ago. Virgil, Serenity and Jenna are an unlikely group, combine forces in an effort to unravel clues that begin to surface after many years. They make a trip from New England to the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee, hoping to find the people who worked at the facility before it was disbanded after Alice vanished. There is a Very Surprising twist at the end, that I will not reveal, other than to say Nothing Is As It Appears.
Due to personal fascination with elephants, I especially enjoyed the information included in the book when shared from the scientist/Alice viewpoint. Picoult did a tremendous amount of research, reading about elephant behavior and shared much of her knowledge in writing from the perspective of one who would spend hours sitting observing these massive animals in their daily activities. Her characters were well formed, with many details added to make each individual seem to come to life, especially as the text was read by different age appropriate voices. A list of the references used by the author was given at the end of the twelve discs, sharing the sources, books she used to help create the fascinating world of elephants and their caretakers.
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