Memorial Day weekend

I spent this weekend with some old friends - friends I have known for a long time, although we are also getting older - at a get-together that has become known as Women's Weekend.

WW began as a reaction to the husbands' Memorial Day weekend canoe trip, which started as a two-day trip down the Eel River, during which the guys ran out of beer and had to call for replenishment. Since then, their annual adventure has become a nearly week-long trip into the wilds of this river or that. Meanwhile, the wives were left at home with the kids and the hope that their spouses' life insurance was paid up. In the spirit of reciprocity, WW was born.

Most years, we got together twice a year, usually at the same location: a reconstructed and modernized log cabin on the property of one of the participants. No phone (and this was before cell phones), a tiny TV which we hooked up to a VCR, no children allowed except nursing babies (and I don't recall that happening too often). While the guys were interested in activity, all we wanted to do was veg.

Initially, WW was about overindulging, in wine, chocolate, card games, R-rated movies we couldn't watch at home, (tobacco) cigarettes we couldn't smoke in front of our kids, etc. Conversation usually centered around our children. Nowadays, we mostly do the same things, but less so, as we are older and more health conscious. We still talk about our kids, but also grandchildren and aging parents and pending retirement and our various and sundry aches and pains.

While the spring meet-up continues, it has become more of a struggle to get together in the fall. You would think, now that the wee ones are adults, it would be easier, but no. Now we are more involved in our jobs and/or communities and/or extended families, doing a lot of the things we couldn't while actively parenting.

We started WW 36 years ago (I think). The first "weekend" was actually an afternoon. After a while, it became an overnight, then an entire weekend, from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. We talk about trying to take a week and travel to somewhere together. Given how difficult it is to arrange a weekend or two, I doubt this will happen, but it is fun to discuss the possibilities.

There is a core group that makes it to almost every WW. There are a few who come when they can. One or two have fallen away entirely. So far, we have not lost any members to death, but that is just a matter of time. It will be interesting to see how our tradition evolves over the next decades. Hopefully, we will be doing this for another 36 years.

A day with grandma

First, we went to the library, where we had to try out all the seating.

Then we went to the Salomon Farm Fiber Arts Festival, where we learned to treadle and went for a hayride.

Then it was home for a little quiet time (while grandma caught a few Z's)...

...followed by exuberant hopscotch.

The day ended with a meltdown when daddy came to pick her up. Too much fun. My work here is done.

I signed up so you don't have to

I subscribe to the New York Times headlines, so I get an email daily that keeps my ill-informed. (Since I am not a real subscriber, I can read only 10 articles a month.) There are a few ads sprinkled through the email, including one from The Grommet that is usually intriguing. But to get into The Grommet website, you have to supply an email. Being the clever bear I am, I have several email addresses, including one I never check, so that is the one I use for shenanigans like forced sign-ups.

The product advertised in today's NYT email is this:

It's an "ostrich pillow"! Available in both adult and junior sizes for a quick power nap after lunch. There are days at work (everyday?) when I really, really, really need something like this as long as it does not leave an imprint on my face. We don't have cubicles anymore, just "cubbies" with only enough space for laptop, keyboard, monitor, and mouse, but I could retreat to a privacy room for a quickie.

Would you pay $99 for this product?

Debating

I've been contemplating just what to do with the four (yes, FOUR) blogs I maintain for myself. (There are two others, one for my neighborhood association and another for an organization I am a member of, but both of those are practically defunct from neglect.) This is how I plan to divvy things up:

• Woodchuck Acres: for yard and garden (obviously). This blog serves as a record keeper, to help me keep track of what I have done when. I also enjoy looking back to previous years.
• Bitten by Knittin': for knitting, dyeing, spinning (again, obviously). Another record keeper, this blog helps me keep track of things fiber-related. I could replace it with more extensive use of Ravelry, but from my statistics, I see I get many visitors after-the-fact, looking for information about this or that.
• Between Rome and Paradise: for what's happening to and in the house. Right now, that is mostly remodeling. Adventures in the kitchen could go here as well.
• October Rose (you are here): for the up-close-and-personal stuff. This may border on TMI at times, but I hope it becomes more reflective. This also seems like a good spot for travel stories, book and movie reviews, autobiography, etc.

That is the plan. For now. Hope you stick around to see how it all evolves.

Does my sweetie know me or what?

The tee shirt says, "Recluse. Just stay home."

Roads are snow-covered. So are trails.

Finally FINALLY I went cross country skiing this winter, yesterday at Metea County Park, today at Fox Island County Park.

Metea is one of those secret gems. Despite the development going on all around, this nature preserve remains quiet and relatively underused. There are trails of course, plus a creek, pond, nature center, sledding hill, etc. Yesterday there were quite a few cars in the parking lot, apparently all having to do with the cross country ski clinic going on in the basement of the nature center. I expected to at least hear the newbies when they hit the trails (falling down in the snow invariable causes high pitched screaming), but I was done before they began. I did not meet another person on the trails, so enjoyed a peaceful interlude.

Fox Island is another story. Usually it is quite noisy, the sources being planes, trains, and automobiles, but last night's snow limited air and car traffic, for a while at least. I was the first on the trails this morning, but by the time I finished, I was meeting other solitary skiers and one couple, all of us trying to beat the crowds. When I reached my car, several families were setting out with much giggling and shouting. Yes, time to head home.

In a previous lifetime, I was self-employed and had time to get involved in volunteer work at both Metea and Fox Island, so became quite familiar with the trails. That was 15 years ago. Now it is easy for me to get turned around at either. Not a big deal ordinarily, but when I decide I am done skiing, I am invariably far from the exit and also confused about the shortest route there. At Metea, I found my way back to the car without too much trouble, but at Fox Island I felt compelled to take the long way back to the parking lot, in order to avoid this hill that does not look bad from the bottom but is adrenaline pumping from the top. I usually force myself to go down it, but after last summer's fall, decided not to tempt fate.

Before going out today, I watched a couple of You Tube videos on how to cross country ski, just to pick up some pointers.



My style is more a shuffle than a glide, but otherwise not too bad. Today I worked on gliding more, and now there is a small blister on one toe of my left foot and a larger blister on the heel of my right foot. Must be like golf - if you are doing it right, you get blisters.

Cold bound

Last night, despite the frigid temperatures (which gave me an excuse to work from home), I was forced to leave my cozy house: haircut, jump start for my SO, library drop-off, milk pick-up, grocery run. As I backed the car out of the garage, I tried to remember the last time I drove or even left the property. I think it was last Thursday, when I worked at work. Five days of house (ar)rest.

I wasn't totally isolated during that time. The granddaughter came to stay with me for a few hours on Saturday, so I saw both my daughter and son-in-law then. The weather and an impending cold/virus thing spoiled the usual get-together with my SO on Sunday, but we were in close contact. Monday the electrician stopped by for a pre-remodeling consult (everything is fine). And when one has the Internet, one is never really alone. (Hi, NSA!) I *could* have gone somewhere one of those days, but there was no need, so why bother?

Unlike some, I don't mind long stretches with only myself for company. The pets offer their own special companionship. With the marvels of technology, I'm not cut off from human intercourse. I see and hear my neighbors as they come and go. And with my myriad hobbies, there is always plenty to do. Since I wasn't feeling too perky to begin with, a couple of days on the couch, knitting and reading and napping, with the occasional foray to the bird feeders and mail box, seemed nearly ideal. Of course, it helps that I wasn't very sick and we never lost power and no pipes froze.

Now that I have stocked up on toilet paper, dairy products, fresh fruit, and chocolate, I am ready for the next wave of winter weather.

How are you surviving the polar vortex?

Targeted

I was one of those people who shopped at Target during the holiday season. There was no suspicious activity on my account, but my credit union was extremely proactive about identifying those who were vulnerable and replacing their cards. After reading a NY Times article on just how lax Target's IT security is, I now use only cash while shopping there.

A few days ago, I received an email from Target, offering me free credit monitoring. At least, the email *looks* like it is from Target. There are no links in the email to take me to god-knows-where, but I don't know *how* Target would get my email address or would know that I had shopped there during the time in question. The only legitimate answer is, my credit union shared my email address with them. Illegitimate possibilities abound, though.

It is not unusual for the ads in FB and Yahoo and other sites to reflect my online browsing and shopping, so I don't think I am being paranoid. Or am I?

Decluttering side effects

This past Thanksgiving, while my little family was all gathered together, I dragged my music collection out of the closets and cupboards. There were 50-year-old LPs, 25-year-old cassettes, 5-year-old CDs. My SO had already taken the few LPs he was interested in, so I let my son and son-in-law pick through the rest. The son-in-law is into vinyl, so he took *all* the LPs. (I told him if he sold one for $1 million, he had to split it with me.) My son helped himself to various and sundry cassettes (his car is old enough to still have a cassette player) and CDs. The leftovers will go to the local library and Goodwill.

I enjoy music but it is not something that is central to my life. When I do listen, it is with Pandora or through other online sources. Once, I borrowed a turntable to play some of those LPs and rediscovered the annoyance of that background hiss, of all the scratches, of having to flip the record after 20 or so minutes. The cassettes were nearly as bad. And my stereo system is so old that the disc changer frequently would not release the CDs. So I saw no reason to hang onto all that junk.

What surprised me was my (internal) reaction to releasing all that personal history. That is what our crap is - a record of who we were and where we've been, especially the LPs and cassettes. The LPs are from my teen and college years and 20's, the cassettes are what I listened to as I commuted back and forth to my new career in my 30's. The CDs were purchased post divorce. When that music when out the door Thanksgiving night, I felt like I was losing something vital.

Over the next several days, I fretted and regretted, but eventually forgot about it. I don't notice the hole in the closet the LPs filled because, quite frankly, they were in the way. The cassettes and CDs were in a cupboard I rarely access, so there is no visual reminder of them, either. All that remains is a paper grocery sack of the rest, that gets shuffled around until I eventually shuffle it out the door.

My reaction helps explain why I have closets full of old computer equipment. Another significant period from my life was the year I was self-employed. I started my own software development business while still working and continued it when I returned to the regular workforce, but eventually the clients dried up. I'm glad I tried it, do not regret its passing, have deposited the software printouts in the recycle bin. The hardware itself has been more difficult to deal with.

Even though I have not even powered up most of those old PCs for 15 years (and wonder if they would even start anymore), they continue to take up space in my storage-challenged house. The oldest computer is at least 20 years old, has a Bournoulli drive and multiple parallel and serial ports, as it became my utility computer. There is a slightly newer desktop that connected me to the Internet. There is a notebook I carried to the clients' offices and used for development; I backed up my work to a Zip drive.

One complicating factor to getting rid of all this stuff is I want to check the hard drives for mementos, like the early emails between my SO and me. How I would get this precious-to-me information off the hard drives is a problem, as they predate the USB era. I may have to print them out; I think I have a cable that will let me do that.

Yes, cables. Lots of cables of one sort or another, with connections of various types, with "gender benders" for mixing and matching the innies and outies. There is probably a modem or two, too, with their own multiple cables. And mice and keyboards and peripherals and god knows what else. It is all there, in my closets. It is probably a good thing I don't have a basement or an attic.

When my children were little, I would go through all their old clothes on an annual basis, to pick stuff out for garage sales. Some long-outgrown items remained behind each time, until their hold on my heart released. Eventually, it all went, as will all that I have now, if not today, then some day, when I am gone, too.

Part of me says, It's my crap and I'll keep it if I want to. But I really don't want to. It feels like so much dead weight. Starting with the newer equipment first, as it is not imbued with such power, would be easier. Once I start, it hopefully will become easier to let go of the past. What feels vitally important to me won't matter to anyone else down the line. It really doesn't matter all that much to me, except as a dim reminder of someone I used to be.

That time of year again

I searched my blog(s) for last year's resolutions, but all I found was this back-patting post. Nothing special was promised, but I am happy to report that I am still jogging, and MORE. My employer provided us with FitBits and mine has actually helped me become more active. In fact, most days I hit my 10,000 step goal. It is not hard to do, but it is also easy NOT to. I wear the thing constantly so every step counts, even middle-of-the-night trips to the john. Still, I have to make an effort everyday.

The result is, I feel more sure on my feet (which should help prevent anymore falls like this one) and my cholesterol numbers are improved. I am also insufferably smug (on the inside). Over xmas break, I even inspired one of my neighbors to get out and walk the nabe.

Another resolution was to declutter. Better late than never, I started that effort just last week. The room my granddaughter sleeps in is now relatively kid-proof and de-yarnified, and has room for the crap she keeps here at my house. I improved the state of the West Wing by moving the spinning wheel and its accouterments to the other spare bedroom which has become my new yarn room. The treadmill has been relocated to the family room, the better to make use of it now that the weather has turned nasty (I watch Netflix on my Nook while walking about 2mph - steps are steps). Two garbage bags of this, that, and the other were delivered to Goodwill. There is still more to do, but this is definitely progress.

This year's resolutions are more of the same: eat less, exercise more, keep house better. Re eating less, this requires constant vigilance. I gained back a few pounds over the holidays - could have been worse. Re exercising more, I got off track this fall with my shoulder PT exercises, so there is room for improvement there. Re the housework, I would like my house to be clean and tidy enough that, should someone stop by unexpectedly, I am not embarrassed. It doesn't have to look perfect - after all, I live here - just reasonable.

What about you? Any new goals on your horizon?

When life hands you lemons, make lemon bars

Xmas is fraught with, well, everything. There are expectations and emotions and disappointments. There are holiday highs and holiday blues. There can be loneliness, regardless of the number of cards, gifts, phone calls, visits. There can be stress, despite the yoga and deep breathing, the planning and strategizing. It all just goes with the territory known as The Holidays.

When I was a child, we followed the Danish custom of opening presents on xmas eve. Even though we did not continue this tradition with my kids, when my daughter married, she saw it as the perfect solution to the in-law problem of where to spend xmas. Somehow eating Mexican also became part of the ritual, so now it is tacos and fajitas on xmas eve at my house.

And desserts. I have made what I call Mexican wedding cakes and also cheesecake in the past. Last year's cheesecake was not all that great, though. True to my make-it-from-scratch-if-reasonably-possible philosophy (and my definition of "reasonably possible" is rather loose), I made the cheese from cream skimmed off my herdshare milk. Unfortunately, the herdshare milk had a peculiar tang to it (common in late fall/early winter, presumably from a change in diet for the cows), so the cream cheese was particularly strong. It didn't bother most, but I found the cheesecake barely edible and my son could not swallow even one bite. So ixnay on the eesecakechay in the future.

This year, however, the herdshare milk did NOT have that seasonal tang. In fact, it tasted better than ever. So cheesecake from homemade cream cheese went back on the menu. I made fromage blanc last weekend and baked this French cheesecake recipe Monday night.

Now, I know I have used this recipe before, but I think I did not do the flipping called for after baking. Or it I did, the results were better. Flipping the entire cheesecake over onto a wire rack is supposed to keep the filling from deflating. I dutifully flipped and all appeared to be fine. Then, as called for in the recipe, I left the cheesecake upside down on the wire rack for 20 minutes.

Well. When I later righted the cheesecake, I found a good deal of the filling had leaked out through the wire rack and onto the counter. The filling also did not seem all that cooked, so I scraped it off the counter, plopped it back in the pie shell, and baked it for another 20 minutes.

I'm sure the cheesecake would have been fine, but this is when the xmas gremlins hit. A major cooking failure on the day before a fraught holiday can do that. I was also feeling hormonal. You know that feeling, when your whole life feels absolutely shitty even though you cannot name one particular reason why. So, while one part of me was calmly looking through Betty Crocker for dessert alternatives that did not involve a trip to the grocery store, another part was trying to cry/not cry.

I used to be quite good at generating self-pity, but the older I get, the more ridiculous that effort seems. This particular evening I certainly felt the need for some self-pity and a good cry, but every time the tears welled up, I found myself laughing at my histrionics. Oh, poor me, I can't bake a cheesecake, I'm a failure as a cook and a mother and a human being, boo hoo hoo, followed by, Seriously? Get over yourself.

Eventually, I baked some ginger snaps and lemon bars, so solved the problem of xmas dessert. Everyone had plenty to eat and no one complained about the lack of cheesecake (and if they had, I would have let them sample the semi-disaster because it is still in the refrigerator). And so another holiday season comes to a close.

(I've always wanted to make Hoppin' John for New Years. Maybe this will be the year. Ham hocks, anyone?)

Back to the future

After a year or so of combining knitting, gardening, and me into one blog, I've decided to go back to separate blogs for each. I am also toying with the idea of copying the me-related posts to this blog so they will all be in one place. That sounds like a really tedious time-consuming task, so we'll see how far that idea goes. Anyway, welcome back to October Rose.

Dumb idea undone

I have a habit of over complicating my life. As if maintaining three blogs were not enough, I tried to start up a Twitter account for each. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad. So I am going to pare that down to one Twitter, and while I am at it, combine my three blogs into a single brand new one: Between Rome and Paradise. I hope you will give the new blog a whirl. Regardless, thanks for your readership!

Don't worry. Be happy.

Warning: This post is mostly about medical issues. Sorry.

Thanks to the three doctors I have seen in the past four weeks, we had to cancel our vacation plans. I was running an intermittent fever and suffering from severe abdominal pains that were initially brushed off as "some virus" and constipation. I would probably still be suffering except one doctor finally noticed my blood work showed elevated liver enzymes. The CT scan showed diverticulitis - yay, proof I really am sick - but the meds were almost worse than the disease, providing a preview of what Alzheimer's must be like. I could not drive, I could not knit, I could not successfully make Jello. Once I finished the meds, the fog lifted, thank god. I'm almost back to normal.

During one of many office visits, when I told the doctor I had had an endometrial ablation years ago, she blurted out, "Maybe you have uterine cancer!" Which sent me to Dr. Google. Turns out an ablation does not increase one's chances of getting uterine cancer, but early signs may be missed because the cervix is scarred shut. So now I will schedule another appointment with another doctor, so I can stop chewing on that.

All through this ordeal, one thought comforted me: at least my hip does not hurt any more. But last week, after two days in a desk chair, the pain returned. Fortunately, between a deep tissue massage and my own self care, that has been beaten back. It is hell getting old.

Back to the diverticulitis, they don't really know what causes it. They say eating a low fiber diet may, but I eat plenty of fiber. My doctor said nuts and seeds, but that theory has been debunked. My neighbor's doctor told him eating bacon is the culprit, but I think he has it confused with gall bladder attacks. There is an element of stress, though. Hence my new motto: Don't worry, be happy. This is an effective method of short circuiting obsessive thoughts as the song fills my brain's thinking space, doing fierce battle with Babe Ruth's "Wells Fargo".



Since I could not do much besides watch TV, I spent my time watching four seasons of "Breaking Bad". And now the eighth season of "Desperate Housewives" and the fourth season of "Damages" are available. All is right with the world!

Six weeks since my last post, time for another

As I mentioned last time, I started a new position at work. Still in IT but on a different team, a team that is actually located in the same building. I had not realized how isolated I felt, when the rest of my team was 600 miles away. I also had forgotten how annoying people can be. One is a big sigher - yesterday she was sighing so deeply and so often, she sounded like she was gasping. She also clips her fingernails at work. Another gets herself cranked up over things that don't really concern her, but when they do, she can get a bit weepy. Which I understand perfectly, as I get that way myself at times. I am also becoming a sigher. The work is less stressful, but incredibly boring.

Since I have a local team now, I work at work most days. The additional time required for dressing, making a lunch, and commuting is putting a real crimp in my schedule, plus there are some things I do at home during the workday that I can't do in the office. Like take a quick nap at noon, or run through some physical therapy exercises while taking a break. There are "privacy rooms" at work, large enough for a small table and four chairs. I found one that is a little bigger than most, and have commandeered it for a half hour of stretches at lunchtime. The people that see me carry a blanket into that room probably think I am taking a nap (and some days, were it so!) Yesterday I bought a cheap yoga mat at Tuesday Morning to use instead, so besides the stretches I can do a few exercises as well.

Besides all the shoulder, wrist, back, and hip exercises I have been doing, I am also going to a chiropractor. As much as I hate my job, I LOVE the benefits, especially since learning the health insurance covers unlimited chiropractic treatments. The treatments themselves are a bit disconcerting - one part involves ankle restraints and a table that moves - but my headaches have abated and many parts of my body feel better. Except my right hip. It has been bothering me for about a year. I've tried yoga and deep tissue massage; rest and massive doses of ibuprofen; gone to my GP who first sent me to PT, then when I developed sciatica, for an MRI (which showed nothing significant); now chiropractic treatments. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me when I am moving, but when I am sitting or standing for extended periods of time (and by "extended" I mean 30 minutes or so). And sometimes at night, when I lay down, so some nights I have to sleep in a recliner. Thinking my mattress might be part of the problem, I even made a pallet of comforters and afghans and slept on the floor for a while. I'm getting rather discouraged.

Which brings me to a complaint I have about people in the medical profession: once they hear certain phrases, like "shooting pain down my leg", they leap to one and only one conclusion, like sciatica, dismissing or not really listening to anything else you say. Something is hinky with my hip, but instead of being curious, they trot out the usual recommendations. Bah.

One reason I want my hip to feel better is my daughter and I are taking the granddaughter on a long road trip, to see my dad, who will be 93 next month. It is one of those trips that could be a lot of fun or a painful ordeal, and like most things, will probably be a bit of both. Toddler N will be two soon (TWO!)

This, that, and the other

I suffer from insomnia. Lately it has become so bad that I signed up to participate in an online insomnia study. To qualify, I completed a questionnaire and submitted to a telephone interview. Then I kept a sleep diary for two weeks, recording what time I got into bed, what time I tried to go to sleep, how long it took to get to sleep, how many times I woke up during the night, how long I was awake, what time I woke up in the morning, what time I got out of bed, etc. Needless to say, my insomnia was worse while recording all this information.

The "meat" of this study consists of two websites for treating insomnia, to determine which one works best. I must have been assigned to the placebo, as it consists of the same tired advice for insomniacs I have been reading for years. It also isn't clear if I am supposed to actually follow any of this advice as part of the study. I already refrain from vigorous exercise and large meals late in the evening, but I'm not going to give up the simple pleasure of reading in bed or get out of bed if I can't fall asleep. They say to stay up until you are sleepy, but don't take daytime naps even if you are sleepy. Oh, yeah? I just took a twenty minute nap and it was delicious.

The website makes no mention of menopause. Sometimes when I wake up at night, it is because of a hot flash. Nor does it ask about pain - sometimes I can't sleep because my hips or shoulders ache. And it does not ask about stress or worry. Like I said, I must be in the placebo group.

One source of stress for me has been my job. I hate, hate, HATE what I was doing. But I am doing it no more. I still work for the same employer but as of July 1 in a different role. Already I can feel the difference - my shoulders are no longer hunched around my ears and one source of inner chatter has quieted down.

An omnipresent worry I have is growing old. Like most people, I know I will die someday but I can't really imagine my own death. I don't have to imagine growing old, though, because it is already happening. In the past six months or so, my body has crossed some invisible line and I can tell I will never be able to cross back. I'm not infirm by any means, but there is a difference.

I also find myself drawn to reading not just memoir, but memoir of old people (and by "old" I mean "older than me"). I just finished I Feel Bad about my Neck by Nora Ephron, am in the middle of This Is Getting Old by Susan Moon, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen is in the wings.

So I have something to read in bed before going to sleep.

Six states in seven days

My SO and I took a road trip last week, crossing Indiana and Illinois on US 24, following the Mississippi up to Galena, then crossing the river to Iowa followed by heading west in southern Minnesota, then north in eastern South Dakota, before meeting up with family in Minneapolis. We cross Wisconsin on the way home. Whew!

A few highlights of the trip:

When I first saw this bumper sticker in Indiana, I was in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, it said "People Eating Tasty Animals." Ah - that made more sense.

Because Carl Sandburg was all about cosmetology, dental hygiene, and therapeutic massage.

The one that did not get away.

As we were returning to the car after admiring the Jolly Green Giant, the LOUDEST tornado siren I have ever heard went off, followed by an equally loud PA announcement that "this is only a test".

Can you believe that the town where this sign hangs has two institutions of higher learning? True!

Ride 'em, cowboy!

Paul Bunyan, in case you can't tell.

I wish I had taken photos of the welcome signs outside many of the small towns we passed through. Each town has its own motto, none of which I can recall, but that seemed curious at the time. Or maybe it was road fatigue that made it seem so.

How to drink beer in Minneapolis

This vehicle is known as a PedalPub. It is powered by the passengers. I'm guessing the exercise helps offset the drinking. This photo was taken Saturday morning, well before noon; maybe it was the same people we saw the night before?

Yes, I was in Minneapolis last week. My SO and I met up with some of his family members, for a couple of days of museum hopping and food consuming. One restaurant we supped at was the News Room, where I saw someone that looked remarkably like R. I could not get a good look at this R's date, but I think R's husband H is really tall. So I watched and waited, and when they got up to leave, confirmed that this H was indeed very tall. Back at the hotel, I showed my SO a picture of R on her blog, and he too thought it was her. We were convinced. But guess what. We were wrong. Thankfully, I'm too shy to accost strangers in public.

Done and done

Once in a while a co-worker will insist they told me something and I pull a complete blank, have absolutely no memory of what they said, which causes my heart to leap with panic and my brain to latch onto a diagnosis of Alzheimer's.  Then the co-worker says, Oops, my bad, I told that to so-and-so.  Jeeze, don't DO that!

Yesterday was my last session of physical therapy - yay!  It was very helpful, as it should be when each session took TWO hours.  The protocol involved manual manipulations (aka torture) by the therapist herself, plus exercise, plus the delivery of cortisone to the joints being treated by means of iontophoresis (I think that's right - it involved electrodes), plus electrical stimulation of the muscles (more electrodes), plus heat packs.  I still have issues, am not 100% yet, but any further improvement to strength and flexibility will be incremental and can be accomplished on my own.  I am tired of going, tired of the time commitment, and tired of hearing the same stories over and over again from my unfortunately chatty therapist.

Still struggling with insomnia.  I've become accustomed to the Ambien and use that a couple of times a week.  Other nights I use valerian and melatonin.  When I find myself jerking awake from dreaming about work, I reframe that problem by telling myself, It's okay to dream about work.  Maybe you need to dream about work, which has turned out to be surprisingly effective.  And I try to quiet the middle-of-the-night monkey mind by saying, Think about that in the daytime, not at night.

Last night that last bit was not very effective because today will probably be Fern's final trip to the vet.  She acts okay, but there is a lot of discharge from her mouth, some of it blood-tinged.  She still tries to clean herself, and her fur gets matted from the discharge.  She pulls out the mats she can reach, so her once beautiful coat is a mess.  Eating and drinking have been difficult for her, resulting in weight loss.  But now she has stopped eating altogether, despite my efforts with a variety of cat and human foods.  It is time.  Unfortunately, Fern will not go gently into that good night.  She will try to hide from me when I go to put her in the travel crate, she will cry on the drive to the vet, she will huddle against me on the exam table.  She will break my aching heart.

Little road trip

My SO and I drove down to Indy last night to listen to the Wood Brothers.  (I did not take these videos.)



I would describe their music as southern rock with folk/blues/gospel influences.  Besides Oliver on guitar and Chris on bass fiddle, they had a percussion guy (Jano Rix) who for some songs thumped a guitar modified to be played percussively.  It looked like he had a mini-tambourine on one drum stick, too.



We would have stayed for the whole show, but 1) there was a warmup act (Seth Walker), so by the time the Wood Brothers hit the stage, it was already past our bedtime, and 2) there was no place to sit.  The few chairs set up were reserved for people we presume won tickets from the sponsoring radio station.  The crowd varied in age, with a preponderance of twenty-somethings who drank beer, danced perilously close to our feet, frequently thumbed their phones and took photos of themselves and each other (I photo bombed at least one picture), and talked, talked, talked.  While we greatly enjoyed the music, we might be getting too old for the other shit.

Falling apart

I hope this blog does not turn into a litany of complaints, but it does feel like I am just falling apart these days. The latest evidence is a crumbling filling. While that was easily fixed, it feels like one more sign post on the road to decrepitude.

When I read non-fiction, I find myself focusing on single topics for a period of time. For a while, it was horse books, then dog books, then books on menopause, autism, Alzheimers. Now I am in the midst of books on aging. I recently read Blue Night by Joan Didion, in which she quotes from In the Fullness of Time: 32 Women on Life after Fifty. Both books are full of loss and somewhat depressing - is this what we have to look forward to?

It does not help that my pets are aging, too. Fern was recently diagnosed with tongue cancer, a particularly aggressive squamous cell type for which nothing can be done. She is still able to eat and drink, and does not appear to be in any pain. Recent trips to the vet have left her more suspicious than usual of my motives when I pass, so she avoids me unless I am prone. Not ordinarily a snuggler, she now seeks my warmth when I am laying under an afghan on the couch. Sometimes I catch her staring at me with great intensity, like she knows.

Unremarkable

That is the result of my ultrasound: unremarkable. And I have gall stones. The phone nurse said the doctor wanted to refer me to a surgeon, but I declined. For one thing, I have known about those gall stones for over eight years, and since I don't have gall bladder attacks, I feel no urge to do anything about it. Also, in my experience, surgeons epitomize the adage, "If the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail."

I'm a little discouraged over the physical therapy. While my strength is improving, my flexibility is not, at least not as rapidly as I would like. I'm tired of going to PT, but I am also tired of my aches and pains.

The Ambien, while providing a solid seven hours of coma-like sleep, leaves me feeling stoned the next day, plus appears to be giving me headaches. I take it only twice a week, but about 24 hours later, my head hurts.

Wouldn't it be easier to just make me young again?

So what else is new?

The doctor's office called about my cholesterol today. Still highish, but since there seems to be a loss of continuity in my chart from changing doctors, they first recommend diet and exercise, with repeat tests in six months. I tend to be more active March to November and eat more fresh fruits and vegetables then, too, so I don't see a problem with this. No results on the ultrasound yet.

I almost did not answer the phone when they called because caller ID showed the caller as "unavailable". The number was local, though, so I did pick up. Recently, I have been getting a ton of unsolicited phone calls from "card holder services". These used to be recorded messages, but lately it sounds like so-called human beings are placing the calls. I don't pick up the phone, but my voice mail is frequently activated, and if a message is recorded, it is usually, "Hello?" My telephone number has been on the National Do Not Call Registry since 1993, but only recently have I started reporting these calls.

Maybe I should resort to social media to shame these callers into finding another way to make a living. After all, it worked on Susan G. Komen and the National Wildlife Federation.

Poked and prodded

I'm sure I have written on this blog somewhere about how I wanted to divorce my doctor, but damned if I can find that entry. Anyway, I lucked out - my doctor relocated, so I was free to pick a new one. And since I was getting a new doctor, I decided it was time for a physical.

I hadn't had a physical in about 12 years, other than the occasional pelvic, so I did not really know what to expect other than a blood draw and maybe a urinalysis. I took a laundry list of little complaints - you know the kind, all those aches and pains and questions that don't warrant an office visit on their own - but the big question was, To shave or not to shave?

This winter I've been really lazy on that one area of personal grooming. It helps that the older I get, the less hair I have on my legs; in fact, my SO can't even tell that I haven't shaved since before Thanksgiving. And really, who else is going to notice? Even though it was 50 degrees outside the other day, it is hardly shorts and tank top weather.

So I did not shave, and since the physical involved the removal of no clothes except my shoes when I climbed on the scale, I was glad I had not bothered. I like the new doctor, someone I had seen once before when my previous doctor was unavailable. My only complaint is there was a student doctor along for the exam. This was not really a problem, except my doctor kept explaining things to him instead of talking to me. Then when my 15 minutes was up, she beat the hell out of there.

My laundry list included 1) a family history of abdominal aneurysms, so she ordered an ultrasound; 2) pain in my right hip, right wrist, and both shoulders, so physical therapy was recommended; 3) intractable insomnia, so I now have an nonrefillable prescription for generic Ambien; and 4) this thing on my scalp (Seborrheic Keratosis, aka "wisdom spot") that has been there for years but is getting bigger - she offered to freeze it off at a later date; the last time I had one removed, it took forever to heal, so I think I'll pass. Besides, the area would have to be shaved, and we know how I feel about shaving.

I started the PT the same day as the physical. I have been through PT before, for my back (which was a lifesaver) and my shoulders (not as successful, obviously). I've had three sessions so far this time, and already I am seeing some improvement. For example, when doing downward dog, I can actually put weight on my right wrist, and I can get my coat on and off without grimacing. My hip is still tight but better.

My insurance pays for the office visit (minus a copay), it pays for the prescription, but for PT, I have to meet my annual deductible and then pay 20% of the remainder. The PT is something that actually improves my health and well being, but insurance does not want to pay for that. I don't get it. Nor do I get how my insurance company negotiates lower fees with in-network providers, in this case about 50% of what the providers would charge someone with no insurance. That just isn't right.

I had the ultrasound (still unshaven) and a blood draw for the usual tests, but they haven't called with the results yet. I don't expect the ultrasound to show anything, but I have had high-ish cholesterol in the past. If I haven't heard from the doctor's office by next Monday, I'll call, but for now, no news is good news.

Stuff

Since I can work from home, I am home a lot, but rarely does my doorbell ring unexpectedly. Lately, however, there has been a parade of "entrepreneurs" hoping to generate some income by selling this or offering a free estimate for that. So far, no out-and-out beggars, but I have to wonder if my recent visitors aren't feeling a bit desperate, to be going door-to-door in January.

Last week at Target, the cashier mistook me for a fellow employee, because I was wearing a red jacket. I told him I did not work there, I just liked the color red. "But you're wearing khakis, too!" Great. I dress like I'm on duty at Target.

More apps for the Nook: NY Times crossword (which unfortunately are not tied to a subscription, so while the app is great, you get only 30 puzzles) and Lose It! for tracking diet and exercise (also good, but you cannot enter the food amounts by weight).

Football playoffs have begun. Since the Colts did not make it this year (really REALLY did not make it), I'm not too interested in the outcomes. The Saints-49ers game was exciting, but watching the Pats cream Denver was a yawner. Glad I did not stay up for that one. And by the way, a note to Tim T and all the other players giving glory on the field: God does not care whether you win at football. At least, I hope not.

The pets had their annual exams and shots recently. Fern has been losing a lot of hair. I've talked with both vets about it, but neither has much to offer since there is no obvious cause. One even suggested she might be "stressed" which sounds a lot like "it's all in her head". I've tried feeding her sardines and fish oils, but she refuses to eat them. (What kind of cat does not like fish?!?) I did change her food, and I *think* there may be some improvement.

Meanwhile, Betsy is kind of lumpy. I noticed a lump on her chest, which is probably a fatty tumor, plus one in her armpit. The vet detected some in the lymph nodes in her neck. No treatment, but now I am suspecting she has a bladder infection because she has peed on the carpet twice in the past week or so. She has not done that in years, since the last time she had a bladder infection. I am tricking her into drinking more (a little chicken broth in the water bowl helps), but may request a round of antibiotics as well.

As for little creatures of the human kind, my granddaughter is getting so BIG. She can climb on and off chairs, reach things on tables, and almost turn door knobs. She is also starting to imitate - I gave her a cloth napkin to play with and she used it to wipe down her high chair. Totally ineffective, but totally cute as well.

Cheers!

I have consumed my share of alcohol in my lifetime. In college, it was probably more than my share, but not as large a share as many of my cohorts. In adulthood, it has varied from none to a few drinks a night. When my kids were teens, I did not even keep alcohol in the house - they may have been consuming but not from my liquor cabinet. I was looking forward to doing some serious drinking in late middle age.

Unfortunately, I seemed to have followed in my father's footsteps in my early 50's. After a lifetime of being the one-or-two-cocktails-a-night kind of drinker, he developed an allergy to alcohol at age 55. Even a sip or two could send him to the emergency room with a severe asthma attack. In my case, the reaction was sometimes an instantaneous hangover, sometimes a delayed stomach upset. With reluctance and disappointment, I faced a future of no booze.

Still, periodically I would try to drink. Thinking the problem might be additives in commercial products, I made some hard cider - mistake. Vodka was usually a safe bet, but only Grey Goose or Ketel One. Beer and wine were not wise. So much for a cold one on a hot day.

Then last summer I tried some Woodchuck Hard Cider. That seemed okay. This fall I sampled some organic ales with no adverse affect. Christmas eve we had tequila sunrises with our tacos. No problemo. Huh. I'm not drinking with abandon, but now I find I can enjoy a beer or two, use wine when cooking risotto, finish the day with a couple of cocktails. What a nice surprise!

I have no explanation for this change in my tolerance for alcohol. I have always leaned toward organic fruits and vegetables. In recent months, I have switched from store-bought, grain-finished meat to purchasing pasture-raised meat from a local farm. I now also drink raw milk and buy cheese made from raw milk. Could there be a connection? Who knows.

Of course, there is the question of, why drink at all? While raising my kids, I consciously lead a safe life, to ensure I was there for them, because my mother died when I was 20 and my brother 17. As an adult, I have always been uber responsible. Add to that, in recent years, so many pleasures have been demonized in our society. It has reached the point where I feel like I am saying NO, NO, NO all the time. Well, now that my kids are grown and I am old enough to throw some caution to the wind, I would like to say yes once in a while.

So here's to behaving with a little irresponsibility! (In moderation, of course.)

Hope springs eternal

It's that time of year again, when this old girl's thoughts turn to resolutions. It seems I make the same resolutions every year: lose weight, exercise more, keep up with the housework, etc. This year is no different. In fact, looking back at an entry I made a year ago, the resolution list looks suspiciously familiar. Only this year, I started/restarted a bit early.

When I work at work (instead of at home), I sit near the actuaries. Some of them have started what has become a semi-regular tradition, of challenging each other to lose weight. Being actuaries, they have a method and a strategy whereby one can earn points, keeping track of it all on a spreadsheet. Some of them actually have lost weight, and a subset of them have also kept the weight off. They kindly invited my co-worker and me to join the current wave (are they saying I look fat?!?) Since there was a financial penalty involved if one did not reach one's goals, I decided I could not afford it. My co-worker, however, is participating, and after hearing him comment that, while he has not lost weight, he has dropped two belt notches, my curiousity was peaked.

So, about six weeks ago I asked him about it, and basically the strategy is one earns points by dieting and/or exercising, every day. The dieting guidelines are a bit stringent, so while he has been watching what he eats, he has been concentrating more on exercise. And it shows. Given that my exercise routine has become non-existent in the past year or so, thanks to some hip-shoulder-wrist problems, I decided the least I could do is go for a walk outside everyday.

And since the weather has been surprisingly cooperative, I have been able to do just that. And in case it isn't, an exercycle has found its way from my daughter's house to mine. Not only do the walks make me feel better physically, they elevate my mood a significant amount. And, to give myself a little incentive, I have an appointment for a physical in about three weeks, with a new doctor.

My weight has crept up about 15 pounds over the past year or so, so I am hoping to reverse that trend, with baby steps.

What are your hopes for the new year?

Nooking Netflix

As you may recall, a while back I tried to treat myself to an iPad but settled for a Nook instead. In general, I have been satisfied with that decision, as I am not cool enough for any Apple products and, until I deleted the app, found I was using my Nook primarily to play Solitaire.

But now the coolness factor of the Nook has gone up a notch. With the release of the 1.4.1 update to their operating system, I can stream Netflix content. I spent xmas morning upgrading my device and checking out the Netflix app, and am pleased to report that watching Law & Order on the Nook in my lap is not a whole lot different that watching it on my 42" TV from across the room. So now I am eager to go on a business trip, just so I can do something besides surf channels and knit in my hotel room.

I also checked out some of the new apps available for the Nook (careful to stay away from the adictive games). Several of the ones I already owned had upgrades, but I also purchased "Garden Tender", "Simple Shopping List", and "Journal". I have a habit of carrying a Moleskine and a calendar in my purse (because I am too cheap for a smart phone and my dumb phone is too dumb), but am also in the habit of making lists ad nauseum, both in the Moleskine and on sticky notes, then losing track of just what I wanted to accomplish. I also have old Moleskines and calendars lying around, which is sometimes useful but mostly is just clutter. At work, I have managed to eliminate my paper usage by keeping information on my laptop; maybe I can do the same in my real life, by using my Nook for more than to weigh down my purse.

And that continues to be my main complaint about the Nook: its weight. Otherwise, it is cool enough for me.

Hallow weinies

I'm not one of those nut jobs who decorates the yard for whatever holiday is scheduled for the current month, but for Halloween, I usually make a half-assed attempt to make my house look somewhat inviting.  No flashing lights, but something resembling a pumpkin may appear.  This year, meh, but I doubt that was why only a dozen or so kids showed up.

For years I ranted (internally) against the little extortionists that forced me to puchase candy and answer the door umpteen times.  Leaving the porch light off did not deter them, either, because (thanks to DST) it is still light out when Trick or Treating begins.  Then, in a moment of self-awareness, I realized I got a kick out of the kids (or most of them).

The two girls that live in the house north of me are always the first to show up.  They look how I expect kids to look on Halloween - kind of disheveled, a little breathless, very excited.  This year the girl in the house to the south of me finally decided (or her parents decided) she was too old to Trick or Treat - after all, she now has her drivers license.  At least she and her cohort were always well costumed.  Several years ago, a too-old-to-trick-or-treat kid showed up at my door, wearing street clothes and a mask.  And bling.  I didn't know whether to laugh or worry he was casing the joint.

The number of kids who TorT in my neighborhood can fluctuate wildly, depending on whether there are forays from neighboring additions.  Consequently, I never know how much candy to buy.  One year I ran out and tried offering apples (classic!)  The look on the kids' faces still makes me laugh out loud.  Other years, I have tried buying candy I don't like - Dum Dums or Almond Joy - so I would not be tempted to eat it myself.  Turns out no one likes that crap.  The kids did not exactly recoil, but they definitely hesitated before plunging their hands into the goodie bowl.  The worst was the year I handed out cheapo plastic toys, in my misguided crusade against suger; most of them wound up in my front bushes.

When I was a kid, most people handed out store-bought candy, but there were always a few who made popcorn balls (always stale) and cookies (always crumbly), or handed out apples (see above).  One family took advantage of the opportunity to divest their household of all the comic books their boys had accumulated over the past year.  This was a very popular house.  A few would wrap ten pennies in netting and ribbon, which sounds kind of cheap, except back then, a regular sized candy bar cost five cents.  Last night I could have handed each child a dollar and come out ahead.

We also used to collect for Unicef.  Does anybody do that anymore?  I could never figure out if one was supposed to collect candy OR collect Unicef money OR if it was okay to do both.

The biggest puzzle of all, though, were the kids who did not consume all their candy on Halloween but rather doled it out over a period of time.  I'm sure parental assistance (or insistance) was involved, but it just seemed unnatural.  And pointless.

Now, hand over the Peanut M&Ms, and no one gets hurt.

She walks!

(OMG, ignore the mess!)

Maybe it's a European thing

If you were in a video conference, sitting closest to the camera, in full view of those far away but not invisible others, would you pick your nose?  Then roll the result between the tips of your index finger and thumb?  Then transfer the result from left hand to right hand, so as to deposit that result on the carpet?

I thought not.

The family obligation vacation

My dad is 92 and lives about 800 miles east of me.  Two of my brothers live near Dad, so I don't worry about him (much), but I do make it a point to visit each year.  When I can, I combine my visit with a business trip, but that is not always possible.  Like this year.  So last week, my SO and I drove to Massachusetts.

And we had a good time, despite the griping I did each evening.  I did not sleep well and felt tired and grumpy and OMG THE TRAFFIC.  But in retrospect, it was good to see everyone.  One day was spent at my dad's house, visiting with him and my stepmother.  A trip to the basement yielded a waffle maker, a couple of boxes of old letters (mostly from me), and a shoebox of home movies I plan to have transferred to DVDs.  Another day we drove north of Boston to see my younger brother's new apartment and the upscale fruit and vegetable "stand" his wife works at and to hoof around Newburyport.  A third day took us to Concord and then into Boston (more or less) where we enjoyed dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant with my older brother and his wife.

The highlight of the trip was our pilgrimage to Walden Pond.  My SO is a big fan of Henry David Thoreau.  On previous visits, we frequently drove right past Walden Pond, but we never stopped.  This time we did.

Replica of Thoreau's cabin.  And of Thoreau.

I can't recall the last time I visited Walden Pond, but it may have been in 1973.  One can swim in Walden Pond, and besides a beach area, there are spots around the shore where a break in the fencing and some stone steps allow one access to the water.

Rock pile near the site of the original cabin

There is not much evidence of the original cabin besides a bit of foundation.  I'm not sure how the nearby rock pile got started, but it has turned into a shrine of sorts.

One of several stupas (cairns)

Some of the writing on the rocks was of the "I was here" sort, but many were obviously memorials to loved ones, which made me a bit weepy.  (Sleep deprivation will do that to you.)

Memorials and such

When my SO picks our vacation destinations, I usually have a much better time than when I choose.  I think this is in part because I feel so responsible for everyone having a good time when it's my idea.  Also, I tend to have an agenda of sorts - day 1 is for this, day 2 is for that, etc.  It's difficult for the goal-oriented to just relax and have a good time.

It is also difficult to relax and have a good time when driving in the dark and the rain and the entrances to the interstate are blocked by police cruisers.  Such was our plight after our Vietnamese dinner.  But with the help of Ms. Garmin, who took us down roads that didn't even look like roads (we had NO idea where we were going), we managed to find our way back to the inn where we were staying.  And in record time!  Hurray for technology!

Winded

Have I complained about my job here?  Of course I have, but lately it seems worse than usual.  Ordinarily, it is feast or famine, either absolutely nothing to do or too much to do and all of it due yesterday.  But the past month or so has felt like day-after-day of wind sprints. Go, go, GO! I am a plodder by nature - I can walk all day long - trudge, trudge, trudge - so this fast paced marathon is exhausting me.  Last night it was all I could do to lay on the couch and pretend to be interested in the Colts' pre-season game. I went to bed around 8:30.  So I am really looking forward to this three-day weekend.

A weekend that starts with a marathon session of babysitting, tonight and all day tomorrow.  Fortunately, Baby N still takes two naps a day, plus she is getting to be more fun all the time.  Not only does she crawl, she can walk behind a push toy, much to her delight.  Unfortunately, it is going to be HOT, so no stroller rides around the nabe, my usual go-to activity when she gets fussy.  Maybe I can teach her to walk the vacuum cleaner around the house?

Sunday it is supposed to rain, so it will be the usual laundry and housecleaning day, ending with dinner for my SO and me.  I've been buying grass-fed beef, so even though it will still be summerlike, I plan to cook a pot roast.

Monday is supposed to be cooler, so that will be slave-away-in-the-great-outdoors day, and by "great outdoors" I mean my backyard.  Hopefully, one activity will be the assembling of a patio canopy.  The online reviews warn against following the instructions, so we'll see how that goes.

And then?  Back to the grind.  *sigh*

Studio of Exhaustion from Diligent Service

That is what I am going to rename the West Wing, a room I added onto my house several years ago.  That, or Hall of Fulfilling Original Wishes.

My SO and I traveled this past weekend to Milwaukee, where (among other things) we visited the Milwaukee Museum of Art and viewed the Summer of China exhibit which features the Qianlong Retirement Garden.  Each building and pavilion in the garden is named, and these two struck me as the epitome of what a retirement garden should be.

It was a technology-based weekend:  we met up with a friend of my SO's with whom he reconnected on FB; the I-Pass doodad made traversing the Tri-State a breeze; detours were overcome by the GPS; the Internet helped me locate local yarn stores, including one that was open on Sunday; texting enabled us to meet up with my son for lunch; etc., etc., and so forth.  We are soft.

Crossing Indiana on our way there, my SO swears he saw a sign for "Snapping Beavers" campground or golf course, with a picture of a beaver wearing a turtle shell.  Alas, Google was unable to confirm this, but "Snapping Beavers" became the phrase of the weekend.  The kilt-wearer with a jackalope sporran (look it up) only added to the mirth at Irish Fest.  (Yes, there were many kilt-wearing men at Irish Fest even though - according to Wikipedia - kilts are actually of Scottish origin and were co-opted by the Irish at the beginning of the 20th century.  Copy cats.)

I can't believe what a relaxing weekend we had.  When I am in charge of our vacation plans, I have an agenda that must be followed in order to see everyone and do everything planned.  Since this was my SO's trip, I was just a tag-along, and that's what I did.  I had never met the FB friend, and neither of us had met her husband, nor her brother and his partner, but the six of us spent a companionable Saturday, eating (Blue's Egg - highly recommended for breakfast), shopping the Third Ward, and "doing" Irish Fest.  Sunday was more eating (Beans and Barley - also highly recommended), the museum, and visiting with my SO's brother and his wife.  The latter expressed disappointment we had not stayed with them, but since that would have involved sleeping in twin beds under Mickey Mouse comforters, I was perfectly happy with the Crowne Plaza in Wauwatosa.

Choosing the hotel and arranging to meet up with my son on our way home were my only responsibilities for this weekend getaway, so it felt like a real vacation to me.  And I needed that.  I'm taking today and tomorrow as vacation days as well, before easing back into the work world.  NOT looking forward to that.

Update

• I went to the pet supply store and bought a big ass litter box for my big ass cat.  Seriously, this thing is so huge you could bathe a toddler in it.  And yet, its footprint is no larger than the tray I had under the old litter box.  And, miracle of miracles, Princess Fern has accepted it.
• The pet store I frequent serves as an adoption point for cats for Animal Control.  When I was purchasing the new litter box, there was a kitten at the store, all black, about four months old, CRYING.  OMG.  Even though Princess Fern is leading me down the path to a catfree household, I had to flee the building.
• Unfortunately, I fled to the store next door, Tuesday Morning.  It's like a brick and mortar eBay without the bidding.  I don't stop there often, but when I do, I usually spend $50 without trying.  This time I came out of there with a glass pitcher, four skeins of yarn, and a meat grinder.
• I don't know if I have mentioned it here, but I don't care for my family doctor - the last time I went to see Dr. W, I had classic signs of diverticulitis, but because I also had a bladder infection (with no symptoms - they just automatically check when I show up), he refused to believe I could have two infections at the same time, so I had to finesse him into prescribing an antibiotic that would work on both.  I wanted to divorce him, but stay in the same multi-location practice, but did not know how to do that without feeling awkward.  Now I don't have to worry - he is changing locations.  Unfortunately, the doctor I want to go to also changed locations, albeit to a different one than Dr. W, but she is not that far away.
• Where I work, we have a chat tool called SameTime.  Initially, I was reluctant to use it, but have since discovered it is very useful.  Yesterday, however, I had NINE chat windows all going at the same time, flashing on my tool bar every time someone responded.  It was like command central.  Today just the idea of using SameTime makes me feel nauseous.

Free to good home

I have owned cats since I was about four years old, starting with a tom cat named Pinky. Back then, all cats were outdoor cats. They might spend time indoors, but they knew to sit by the door when they needed to go out and do their "business". In fact, they preferred to spend at least some of their time outdoors, especially at night.

Fast forward about twenty years (and many cats later because, gee, outdoor cats seem to "disappear" a lot), and we were living in the country with one rather old cat, ostensibly an outdoor cat, but one that didn't seem to "need" to go outside very often. Alas, this was because she was using the area under out bed as her litter box. What amazes me to this day is that we never noticed any smell, that is until we rudely disturbed the area by ripping up the carpet. For the first time, we instituted a litter box. Problem solved, but it was also the beginning of the Era of the Indoor Cat.

Fast forward another thirty years....

Most cats seem to be born knowing how to use a litter box, but somehow my current cat is one that has, and always has had, "issues". It doesn't seem to matter how clean, how private, how perfectly designed a litter box may be (and I have quite the collection of them), with Fern it is hit or miss. When I still had a Florida room, with its cement floor, this was not a big problem. Fern would pee in the box and at least poop in the area of the box if not right in it. But now the Florida room is gone, and I have discovered that there is no other area in the house that is conducive to haphazard litter box usage.

Right now the box is in the laundry room where there is a toilet, so scooping up errant piles and disposing of them is not a big deal. But recently there has been pee just outside the box. Of course, in Fern's mind, she is technically in the box, but just barely. I keep the box in a tray, so at least the floor is spared. But still.

I could not figure out why all of a sudden this problem cropped up, but one day, when the carpet cleaners came and I dragged Fern out from behind the couch, I discovered that she weighed a TON. Aha, I thought, she is simply too big for the box. That also explains why her personal hygiene has been a bit lax lately.

You might wonder why I had not noticed Fern's weight gain before this. For one thing, she is a big cat, a raccoon look-alike. For another, she is not a lap cat. She likes to be petted, but only on her terms, and distrusts me completely. After all, I am the one who takes her to the vet and cleans her ears. Also, sometimes I yell at the dog, which causes Fern to think I am this household terror who is out to do her harm.

Fern is not actually my cat, but my daughter's, but my daughter and her husband already have two cats and a baby, so they don't want Fern. Fern loves my SO, even lets him brush her, but the sentiment is not returned. Fern also loves my son, but he is in a three-cat household, plus is not interested in such a high maintenance animal. Fern is, what, 11? 12 years old? Surely she can't live forever. Or can she?

I tried to weigh Fern, to see just how heavy she was, but that freaked her out. Even so, I cut back on her food, and now she appears to be fitting into the litter box better these days. One can only hope.

Move for the camera

I write a lot, have even in the distant past published a couple dozen articles in newspapers and magazines, but rarely think of myself as a writer. I take pictures, many pictures, to get one or two that are halfway decent, so never think of myself as a photographer. But put a camcorder in my hand and before I have even learned how to turn it on, I feel like a videographer. Why is that?

Yes, I made a few purchases the other day, since it was too hot to do anything besides shop. I went to ABC Warehouse to buy a grill that was on sale, and walked out of there with a Sony Handycam and a Kitchen Aide immersion blender. It's too hot to cook, especially outside over an open flame, and the blender needs to be washed before using, but I have tried "filming" a hummingbird. They are nearly impossible to capture in still photos, and the camcorder is no better. Recording a robin splashing in the bird bath worked great, though. And with the zoom lens, I can work the garden from the comfort of the West Wing.

(This was my first time at ABC Warehouse. The sales staff must work on commission, because the guy that helped me with the camcorder rang me up separately from the guy who sold me the grill. Also, they really push the extended warranties, offering discounts on what you are buying if you will please, please, please purchase the warranty. And customer service after the sale is practically non-existent; my SO purchased a refrigerator that was supposed to be delivered today but was not. On the other hand, the prices are good and they are willing to dicker, if you like that sort of thing.)

Update on my Nook usage: my primary Nook activity is playing Solitaire, although I subscribe to a couple of magazines through it. One of the issues contained a recipe for Peach Salsa, which I made; cooking with the Nook is okay as long as your fingers aren't sticky with peach juice and the Nook doesn't go into sleep mode too often. I thought I might use it as an organizer, so I downloaded some apps, but I find it easier to access a Moleskine and pocket calendar I carry in my purse. I can download ebooks and audio books from my local library, but the selection is a bit limited. While I don't regret the purchase, I'm glad I did not shell out the big bucks for an iPad because I don't think I would make better use of it either.

I also bought a small coffee grinder a while back. I initially purchased it to grind flax seeds, and when I ran out of seeds, decided to try grinding coffee in it. I have a big coffee grinder that I used until I got tired of the mess; the little grinder is not much better. And I can't really tell the difference between coffee that comes ground, coffee that I put through the grinder at the store, and coffee that I grind at home. Can you? So the little coffee grinder is going back to being a flax seed grinder, and the big grinder is my backup unit for when the grinder at the store is not working and/or one of my "cool" friends brings me coffee beans.

Resolutions - who needs 'em? and other random topics

The whole idea behind a monthly recap regarding my New Year's resolutions was to make myself accountable.  But it's not working.  So we are going to abandon this topic, hopefully forever.

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I work mostly with people whose first language is not English.  Firstly, I am impressed at how well they not only speak English, but how well they understand the language.  Still, certain words seem to be mispronounced by all of them.  One that readily comes to mind is "synonyms" - my colleagues put the stress on the second syllable - syNONyms.

And then there are the words that don't seem like words:  "updation", "prepone", "parallelly".  Initially, I considered these creative alternatives, but discovered that they are in Internet dictionaries.  In my own defense, they are not in my battered 1968 edition of Webster's New World DIctionary.  It is truly a new world out there.

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I've had my NookColor for a while now, carry it with me everywhere I go, but find I don't use it very often, except to play Solitaire.  In fact, I have not been reading much lately at all.  I blame Netflix streaming for that - I am currently marching through "Law & Order: SVU".  But I did finish Birds in Fall, a sad novel about a plane crash off the coast of Nova Scotia, and am working on another sad story, The Bird House, about a woman whose memory is failing.  Geesh, maybe I need to pick out happier themes, maybe then I would read more.

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Apropos of nothing, isn't she cute?!?

I feel dumb

When I purchased my Nook, I also became a member of Barnes & Noble's "club".  (It was free, or I paid $25 for the membership and the price of the Nook was reduced by $25, or something like that.)  Later, when I wanted to register my membership number on BN.com, I could not find my membership card.  In fact, I had no memory of receiving a membership card.  I looked in my wallet, my purse, the little orange pouchI use for all my other customer cards, but could not find it.  I concluded I had never received it, and sent B&N an email requesting my card.  They sent me a new card, with a new number, which I registered.  Fine. 

Last night, while buying pet food, I rummaged around for my Pet Supplies Plus customer card and found... the original B&N membership card. 


On my way home from Pet Supplies Plus, I passed a gas station and noticed that regular was below $4 per gallon.  I decided to fill up at the Marathon near my house.  A few blocks later, while waiting at a traffic light, I had the feeling there was some place I wanted to stop on my way home, but could not remember where.  The grocery story?  The library?  Then I glanced at the BP station to my left, saw that regular was below $4 per gallon, and remembered.


And don't get me started on names and faces!


This kind of stuff happens to me all the time.  Part of the problem is my sedentary job - on weekends, when I am more active, I feel much more astute.  Part of the problem is I move through my days in a haze - same ol' same ol', lather, rinse, repeat.  I'm getting to that age where a headache is a brain tumor, indigestion an impending heart attack, and forgetfulness the onset of Alzheimers.  Re the latter, denial is a good thing, because really, what are you going to do about it?


Now, pardon me while I go do a crossword puzzle.  If I can find a pen.  And my glasses.  Which are on my face.

Resolutions - April recap

No real progress in April.  I caught a bad cold that suppressed my appetite, but if I did not eat, I felt lightheaded; then when I started to feel better, I also felt ravenous.  Meditation went out the window, but I was more active despite my illness.  Pluses and minuses.  And so it goes.

This past week I was on a business trip, which is usually an opportunity to overeat, but I did okay even though Monday turned into cookie day.  Also, I ordinarily eat a lot of nuts and avoid carbs in the form of bread and pasta, but on this trip, that was reversed.  I rarely felt hungry and even though it seemed like I was eating a lot, did not gain any weight.  I must rethink my nut-laden ways.

The hip problem that I reported in the March recap is better.  My massage therapist targeted two muscles she thought might be the culprits - the psoas and something else that begins with p - and while I am not 100% cured, there was significant improvement.  Tomorrow I get another massage, so we'll work on them again.  Deep tissue massage is not an instantaneous cure-all, but it does keep the aches and pains to a minimum.

Does anyone know anything about raw milk?  I find there is a nearby source.  There is a "call out" to gauge interest.  I will go to see what it is all about.  I find that a lot of foods I loved as a child don't taste very good anymore, and milk is one of them.  We used to get milk delivered to our doors, practically right from the cow.  Now who knows where it comes from, or how far (especially organic milk), or what the cows are fed.

And speaking of food, I am reading (on my Nook!) Blood, Bones, and Butter, by Gabrielle Hamilton.  She owns a restaurant in NYC, and the book describes her journey through food and the food industry.  Very interesting and very well written.