Uh-oh, today is the first day of my annual autumn 'melancholy'. It happens every year. For ages I've tried to deny this is going to occur. I've finally come to grips that it will. Actually, I can trace this melancholy to its origin when I was a very young woman...it involved the loss of the man with whom I though I was going to live the rest of my life.
It was the Labor Day Weekend. I won't go into great detail 'cause I don't want you to become melancholy, too.
Needless to say, with that holiday weekend approaching...I can feel my inner-self preparing for yet another anniversary of September sorrow. However, today, I took a different approach to this folly. Remember yesterday I advised everybody to "Breathe deep, and go with the flow." I decided to do exactly that.
So, I went outside and simply sat in the sun. I didn't take a book, or even some crocheting. Nope, I simply sat and let the last of the August suns wash over me. It was wonderful. I watched the clouds, I watched my dog, I looked and examined my brown, water starved lawn. How interesting...the grass wasn't dead...deep, deep, close to the soil, there were tiny, almost microscopic blades of green. Peculiar I never took notice of that. I think I simply took for granted the grass came back with the October rains, when actually, (like spring buds) the blades are already there, waiting, waiting, patiently waiting for their moment of rebirth.
Oh, how wonderful the sun felt. It crept to the core of my melancholy, and soothed me. The melancholy, slowly crept back into the crevice of 'time to come'. I eventually walked around the house, and saw spider webs glistening in the sun, wafting slowly in the morning breeze. I didn't have the heart to destroy them and ducked my way under or around them. Then Zorro and I meandered back to the house, I could feel my melancholy was at rest for the day. I vowed, I would keep it there, with my mind open for unexpected pleasures and explorations.
So, here I am, back at work. I feel regenerated, renewed, eager to start new projects.
Perhaps it's time to put my melancholy permanently to rest. No, I can't allow that to happen, because if I did, that would mean I also had to permanently put to rest the memories of the love of my life. I simply cannot, I will not allow that happen.
Welcome back September, welcome back, old friend, melancholy.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
I've got the giggles.
Seriously. I would have thought people understood construction. I am getting such a kick out of the comments left at the construction site in Times Square. (Yes, I know I wouldn't write about this any more.) I guess I lied. But, it's just so darn funny. There are comments like "Same old digging, same old spot." "Is this construction e-v-e-r going to end?" "When are things going to get back to normal?" "I hate all the noise!"
Well, let me tell you. Digging in the same spot is routine, either somebody didn't read the 'specs', or they've discovered, the original plan didn't match up with what the 'city thought' was buried in the first place. Oh, yes, the construction will end...supposedly at the end of 2014, hopefully in time for the New Year's Eve bash. People!!! Times Square has never been and never be normal...that's what makes Times Square, Times Square. I know I'm the odd man out here, but I happen to enjoy construction noise, it shows progress is being made if even at the slowest pace possible.
Relax people! Get a grip! It's going to be okay.
On a small scale, I've had some remodeling done. We had a completion date, and our intentions were good, very, very good. However, stuff happens. Perhaps the tile you want is suddenly, and always mysteriously out of stock...so if you want to stay on track you can either change tiles or you can wait. Then something unexpected happens...like a worker putting his foot through your dining area ceiling. (OMG, THAT WAS SOOO FUNNY!) That still makes me giggle to this day.
It got so quiet in my house you could hear a feather drop. After the foot slowly retreated out of sight, I inquired "Is that an ooops?" And we all laughed. Which all goes to prove that no matter how much you want to have any project move along normally, there are times...mostly all the time...things will hiccup. My advise is, breathe deep and go with the flow. Those hiccups will make a good story some time in the future.
So, construction workers in New York, keep doing your thing. And, I bet a thousand dollars, six weeks after construction is completed, somewhere, somehow, for some reason, part of that new construction will be under repair. But, it's all good, it's all good.
Breathe deep, and go with the flow.
So, construction workers in New York, keep doing your thing. And, I bet a thousand dollars, six weeks after construction is completed, somewhere, somehow, for some reason, part of that new construction will be under repair. But, it's all good, it's all good.
Breathe deep, and go with the flow.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Dang washer!
Sunday afternoon my clothes washer went belly-up. Sigh.
It washed my first load (whites) per usual, and the water drained out. After a while...I don't know how long...I heard a musical bleep-pity, bleep, bleep sound coming from my laundry room. What the heck was that?
It was my washer.
Hmmm.
Oh, perhaps my load was 'off balance', so I opened the lid and moved the clothes around, closed the door and 'pushed the button' to restart the washer.
It sounded like it was going to work...but stopped...
I tell ya, I fooled around with that washer for a couple of hours and finally got it to advance through and complete the load. Talk about frustration.
I knew I was going to have to call for repair service...oh, the dread. My mind raced back to the trouble I had with Sears right before I kicked their repairman out of my house telling him in no uncertain terms I was sooooooooooooooo done with Sears they would never, ever darken my door again. What a comedy of errors. I was without a washer for a month, and in the end the repair guy who showed up was so young he had not a clue what to do with my old 1973 machine. He said he would have to schedule an 'older guy' to come work on it. Grrrrrrrrrrr. That's when I threw him, his tools, and the replacement part out of the house.
I had no choice but to buy not only a new washer, but dryer as well because my old dryer was the same vintage as my washer. Whew, I thought after spending close to a thousand bucks, I'm good for another 25 years. Yeah, right. Today manufacturers build things to last about seven years...guess what??????????
So, I've got a repair guy coming Saturday the 30th, between noon and three. I've already given them my appliance name, model and serial numbers. This should be a piece of cake, right? However!!!!!!!!!
Here's how it's going to go.
First, my machine WILL WORK PERFECTLY! Therefore he will not believe me, and even though I describe in great detail what went wrong, he will look at me as though I'm some kind of fruitcake. He will shrug, tell me to call to make another appointment if it happens again. IT WILL. Probably as soon as he leaves and I start to do laundry.
Second, I will call back, and be told the next open appointment is at least a week out, I take it.
Third, I begin to do my 'unmentionables' by hand.
Fourth, the guy returns for a second visit...again my machine snickers and works just fine.
Fifth, (Repeat from step two.)
Sixth, repairman makes third visit, this time he actually looks at my machine thinking maybe the only way to get this crazy old woman off his back is to spend time physically looking at the works of my machine. He actually finds something, and orders the part...it will be sent to my home via USPS, FedEx or UPS, and I should call and set up an appointment as soon as the part arrives.
Seventh, the part will arrive, I will call, AND IF it is indeed it is the correct replacement part, in about a week the repair man arrive at my front door and will actually fix my machine.
Now, I would like to say this is a fictional story. It is not. This is exactly what happened with my old washing machine, except, the first part that arrived at my door was not the correct part, and a new part had to be reordered...they found it somewhere in Texas. All in all it took that saga slightly more than a month to resolve. I'm hopeful, that saga will not repeat this time around.
Am I really, really hopeful? No. My seven years is up...the company who build my machine is probably not even in business anymore. There probably aren't replacement parts available...even in Texas, and the repair guy is going to be so young he will have never even heard of my machine. And, that dear folks, is when I'm going to kick him out.
It washed my first load (whites) per usual, and the water drained out. After a while...I don't know how long...I heard a musical bleep-pity, bleep, bleep sound coming from my laundry room. What the heck was that?
It was my washer.
Hmmm.
Oh, perhaps my load was 'off balance', so I opened the lid and moved the clothes around, closed the door and 'pushed the button' to restart the washer.
It sounded like it was going to work...but stopped...
I tell ya, I fooled around with that washer for a couple of hours and finally got it to advance through and complete the load. Talk about frustration.
I knew I was going to have to call for repair service...oh, the dread. My mind raced back to the trouble I had with Sears right before I kicked their repairman out of my house telling him in no uncertain terms I was sooooooooooooooo done with Sears they would never, ever darken my door again. What a comedy of errors. I was without a washer for a month, and in the end the repair guy who showed up was so young he had not a clue what to do with my old 1973 machine. He said he would have to schedule an 'older guy' to come work on it. Grrrrrrrrrrr. That's when I threw him, his tools, and the replacement part out of the house.
I had no choice but to buy not only a new washer, but dryer as well because my old dryer was the same vintage as my washer. Whew, I thought after spending close to a thousand bucks, I'm good for another 25 years. Yeah, right. Today manufacturers build things to last about seven years...guess what??????????
So, I've got a repair guy coming Saturday the 30th, between noon and three. I've already given them my appliance name, model and serial numbers. This should be a piece of cake, right? However!!!!!!!!!
Here's how it's going to go.
First, my machine WILL WORK PERFECTLY! Therefore he will not believe me, and even though I describe in great detail what went wrong, he will look at me as though I'm some kind of fruitcake. He will shrug, tell me to call to make another appointment if it happens again. IT WILL. Probably as soon as he leaves and I start to do laundry.
Second, I will call back, and be told the next open appointment is at least a week out, I take it.
Third, I begin to do my 'unmentionables' by hand.
Fourth, the guy returns for a second visit...again my machine snickers and works just fine.
Fifth, (Repeat from step two.)
Sixth, repairman makes third visit, this time he actually looks at my machine thinking maybe the only way to get this crazy old woman off his back is to spend time physically looking at the works of my machine. He actually finds something, and orders the part...it will be sent to my home via USPS, FedEx or UPS, and I should call and set up an appointment as soon as the part arrives.
Seventh, the part will arrive, I will call, AND IF it is indeed it is the correct replacement part, in about a week the repair man arrive at my front door and will actually fix my machine.
Now, I would like to say this is a fictional story. It is not. This is exactly what happened with my old washing machine, except, the first part that arrived at my door was not the correct part, and a new part had to be reordered...they found it somewhere in Texas. All in all it took that saga slightly more than a month to resolve. I'm hopeful, that saga will not repeat this time around.
Am I really, really hopeful? No. My seven years is up...the company who build my machine is probably not even in business anymore. There probably aren't replacement parts available...even in Texas, and the repair guy is going to be so young he will have never even heard of my machine. And, that dear folks, is when I'm going to kick him out.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
So...
I'm back. It was a busy week, not that I did anything exceptional. I tried to stick to my normal routine, but since I was also dog sitting for my daughter, it was an added responsibility. Dear dog, Rascal....I kept wanting to call her Patches....don't ask me why...is 15 years old, still gets around pretty well, but...you know me I'm an Ace of a Worry Wort. I watched her like a hawk, didn't want anything to happen to her while she was in my care.
I discovered she had just about as many idiosyncrasies as I do, I guess that comes with old age...but certainly brought home (again) the fact I never want to have to live with any of my children. I would drive them insane...even if they took turns looking after me.
Dear, dear Rascal. She has one of those 'fatty growths' that comes with old age. Hers is on one side, mine is all over my body. She's got this nerve problem where her right back leg suddenly stiffens up and shoots out behind her. First time it happened, it scared the wits out of me. I get leg cramps, really bad leg cramps that force me to extend my leg out straight too. I hope her problem is nowhere near as painful as mine. Just writing about this makes me get goose bumps. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Then, God love her, she has the 'Pacings'...she roamed, and roamed, and roamed. Up and down the hall, in and out of rooms, for hours, until she was so exhausted she flopped onto her bed and finally slept for hours, the tip of her tiny pink tongue hanging over her lower lip. Me, well I don't roam, but when I'm finally at rest, I have to keep my hands busy, mostly I crochet. But when I don't have a project going, I rip the label off my water bottle and play with it for hours. I roll and unroll it, forming it into a cigarette, then hold it between my fingers. Seriously, I fiddle with it all evening. It's ridiculous. And as for my tongue hanging out when I sleep...I don't think I do that...but boy, do I drool.
I worried. Mostly that she would fall and hurt herself. I worry I'm going to fall and hurt myself...is it time I get myself one of those buttons to wear around my neck. I worried she would get sick. I worry about that for myself, I don't want to become a dependent. I worried she might die. Well....we all know eventually we have to walk into that...."good night".
She was funny. In particular, if she wanted my attention, and I didn't respond quickly enough...she would sneeze. At first, I thought it was just 'a sneeze' and I would say "bless you". Then, after a few days I discovered it was deliberate. Like if she wanted me to pet her, and I was ignoring her. She would sneeze, and sneeze, and....sneeze. Oh, in the morning she wanted me to get up and I was not ready, she would sneeze, sneeze....sneeze. I can't think what I do as a similar thing, but I'm sure Frankie can think of several.
My dog sitting job came to an end yesterday afternoon. Boy, Rascal was sure happy to see her owner. She squealed and squealed in delight. It was only after we were sitting in my living room for a while that I gave a long and sincere look at Rascal, there was something different about her. It took a bit to realize what it was. It was a simple thing really, I almost missed it. There was a shiny, bright look in her eyes, they had become alive. During the week, they were dull, and almost black as bituminous coal. Now they had a glossy sheen, like anthracite coal. It was an amazing transformation.
And when it came to getting into the car for the ride home, I mean, there was no hesitation at all, she jumped in there like a six month old pup. Happy, happy, happy was she.
All in all it was quite an experience. Not only did I learn a lot from her, I learned a lot about me...I learned a lot about aging...it's not pretty folks...whether you're man or beast.
I discovered she had just about as many idiosyncrasies as I do, I guess that comes with old age...but certainly brought home (again) the fact I never want to have to live with any of my children. I would drive them insane...even if they took turns looking after me.
Dear, dear Rascal. She has one of those 'fatty growths' that comes with old age. Hers is on one side, mine is all over my body. She's got this nerve problem where her right back leg suddenly stiffens up and shoots out behind her. First time it happened, it scared the wits out of me. I get leg cramps, really bad leg cramps that force me to extend my leg out straight too. I hope her problem is nowhere near as painful as mine. Just writing about this makes me get goose bumps. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Then, God love her, she has the 'Pacings'...she roamed, and roamed, and roamed. Up and down the hall, in and out of rooms, for hours, until she was so exhausted she flopped onto her bed and finally slept for hours, the tip of her tiny pink tongue hanging over her lower lip. Me, well I don't roam, but when I'm finally at rest, I have to keep my hands busy, mostly I crochet. But when I don't have a project going, I rip the label off my water bottle and play with it for hours. I roll and unroll it, forming it into a cigarette, then hold it between my fingers. Seriously, I fiddle with it all evening. It's ridiculous. And as for my tongue hanging out when I sleep...I don't think I do that...but boy, do I drool.
I worried. Mostly that she would fall and hurt herself. I worry I'm going to fall and hurt myself...is it time I get myself one of those buttons to wear around my neck. I worried she would get sick. I worry about that for myself, I don't want to become a dependent. I worried she might die. Well....we all know eventually we have to walk into that...."good night".
She was funny. In particular, if she wanted my attention, and I didn't respond quickly enough...she would sneeze. At first, I thought it was just 'a sneeze' and I would say "bless you". Then, after a few days I discovered it was deliberate. Like if she wanted me to pet her, and I was ignoring her. She would sneeze, and sneeze, and....sneeze. Oh, in the morning she wanted me to get up and I was not ready, she would sneeze, sneeze....sneeze. I can't think what I do as a similar thing, but I'm sure Frankie can think of several.
My dog sitting job came to an end yesterday afternoon. Boy, Rascal was sure happy to see her owner. She squealed and squealed in delight. It was only after we were sitting in my living room for a while that I gave a long and sincere look at Rascal, there was something different about her. It took a bit to realize what it was. It was a simple thing really, I almost missed it. There was a shiny, bright look in her eyes, they had become alive. During the week, they were dull, and almost black as bituminous coal. Now they had a glossy sheen, like anthracite coal. It was an amazing transformation.
And when it came to getting into the car for the ride home, I mean, there was no hesitation at all, she jumped in there like a six month old pup. Happy, happy, happy was she.
All in all it was quite an experience. Not only did I learn a lot from her, I learned a lot about me...I learned a lot about aging...it's not pretty folks...whether you're man or beast.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
I'm back baby!
After my curiosity got the best of me from watching all the commercials about something called Lumosity I decided I needed to check it out. I discovered it was a web-site designed to keep a person's mind active and to increase a person's brain activity. I thought, what the heck. Why not give it a go. Turns out it's a bunch of games specifically designed to increase one's agility in various parts of your brain. In particular, speed, memory, attention, flexibility and problem solving. I was impressed when my first score was 107...I was appalled that for my age group...this was a horrible, horrible, horrible score. I was at the very, very bottom.
That made me mad and I continued playing through the free introductory offer. I found I had made a little progress, and I enjoyed the challenge so I signed on for a year. By the time the year was over I'd increased my brain activity in every area so that I was midway through the ninety percentile for people my age. My score was 1177. New games were added and I found some of them were harder, but I managed to increase my brain activity in them as I learned to play.
Then...earlier this year, I found my scores started to drop. At first I was frustrated with myself, and a bit angry, too. What the heck was wrong with me. The worse I got, the more angry I became. It got so I began missing days of play. Maybe (for my age) I'd reached the top of the ladder, there were no more rungs got climb.
I stopped playing for a whole week.
Played for a while, with no success, although my scores stopped falling.
I stopped playing for a month. I worried I might have had a stroke, it was obvious something had happened. My scores in all my brain functions had stagnated badly. I fretted, I know it affected me in other areas of my life. I was grumpy, miserable, unhappy, and I know it showed in my blogs and postings on Facebook. I even stopped making merchandise for my store. I....wallowed.
Then, one evening I decided to see what was new at Lumosity....and I discovered everything was. They had redone the entire site, and also changed the scoring for all the games in all the categories, for all the age groups. Oh, I was still in the ninety percentile for my age group, but the very low 90's. And they had changed my overall score so that it had dropped from 1177 to 1144, which (after all their studies) was a much more accurate score for my age. On one hand I was delighted to know I had not had a stroke or some other mental breakdown, while on the other I was very angry with them they had not told me they were upgrading the web-site. Grrrr.
My gene pool stubbornness kicked in. I decided I was done, done, done with them, and even though I had months to go on my membership I decided I didn't give a fig...and was never going to play again. Then, I decided I'd show them...buddy...I'd show them!
I started to play again. Yes, even the more simple games (I can't explain how) were harder, I had to work with stony resolve to keep my scores where they were, and didn't seem to be able to move up by even one measly point. Grrrr.
Then, one night, my scores didn't fall, and actually went up a point or two on some of the games. Well, howdy! It's funny how such a simple sign of mental agility brought me encouragement. At first my over all score read 1145, then increased to 1147, then it went over 1150. Oh, it fell a couple of times, as I began to learn new games, but at least I knew my mind was still okay. Whew!
Then, last night it happened. My over all score hit 1177. I'm back baby, I'm back!!!!!!!!!!
That made me mad and I continued playing through the free introductory offer. I found I had made a little progress, and I enjoyed the challenge so I signed on for a year. By the time the year was over I'd increased my brain activity in every area so that I was midway through the ninety percentile for people my age. My score was 1177. New games were added and I found some of them were harder, but I managed to increase my brain activity in them as I learned to play.
Then...earlier this year, I found my scores started to drop. At first I was frustrated with myself, and a bit angry, too. What the heck was wrong with me. The worse I got, the more angry I became. It got so I began missing days of play. Maybe (for my age) I'd reached the top of the ladder, there were no more rungs got climb.
I stopped playing for a whole week.
Played for a while, with no success, although my scores stopped falling.
I stopped playing for a month. I worried I might have had a stroke, it was obvious something had happened. My scores in all my brain functions had stagnated badly. I fretted, I know it affected me in other areas of my life. I was grumpy, miserable, unhappy, and I know it showed in my blogs and postings on Facebook. I even stopped making merchandise for my store. I....wallowed.
Then, one evening I decided to see what was new at Lumosity....and I discovered everything was. They had redone the entire site, and also changed the scoring for all the games in all the categories, for all the age groups. Oh, I was still in the ninety percentile for my age group, but the very low 90's. And they had changed my overall score so that it had dropped from 1177 to 1144, which (after all their studies) was a much more accurate score for my age. On one hand I was delighted to know I had not had a stroke or some other mental breakdown, while on the other I was very angry with them they had not told me they were upgrading the web-site. Grrrr.
My gene pool stubbornness kicked in. I decided I was done, done, done with them, and even though I had months to go on my membership I decided I didn't give a fig...and was never going to play again. Then, I decided I'd show them...buddy...I'd show them!
I started to play again. Yes, even the more simple games (I can't explain how) were harder, I had to work with stony resolve to keep my scores where they were, and didn't seem to be able to move up by even one measly point. Grrrr.
Then, one night, my scores didn't fall, and actually went up a point or two on some of the games. Well, howdy! It's funny how such a simple sign of mental agility brought me encouragement. At first my over all score read 1145, then increased to 1147, then it went over 1150. Oh, it fell a couple of times, as I began to learn new games, but at least I knew my mind was still okay. Whew!
Then, last night it happened. My over all score hit 1177. I'm back baby, I'm back!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, August 18, 2014
Staycation
I'm sure you remember last month I followed my sister's vacation on the Internet. She had sent me a copy of her itinerary and every day I would go on-line and check out where she was and what she was doing and seeing. I had myself a grand time without having to drag suitcases around.
While I was at it I made a scrapbook for my sister and myself, with pictures of everything I could find. When she got home I sent her copy to her. I was surprised to find the book had over thirty pages printed front and back. When she got her copy she called me and we spent over an hour going over what I had included in the book along with side notes of the things I liked the most.
She told me she had picked up some brochures and postcards and would send them to me, so that I should expect a package in the mail. It arrived today. Oh, the wonderful things in the package, I was amazed. Before sending the package she informed me I didn't have to send every/anything back to her and I could add them to my scrapbook. Well, this package was amazing, it was loaded with brochures and postcards alright, but there were also amazing booklets, schedules of events and menus from restaurant.
I immediately called her and asked if she was sure she didn't want me to return some of these things and she reassured me, these were copies meant for me. I can't believe all these treasure. So, I'm sure you can imagine what I'm going to be doing today, yep, I'm going to devour every single article and then place them in the appropriate places in my Staycation scrap book.
I gotta' go now, time's a wastin'.
While I was at it I made a scrapbook for my sister and myself, with pictures of everything I could find. When she got home I sent her copy to her. I was surprised to find the book had over thirty pages printed front and back. When she got her copy she called me and we spent over an hour going over what I had included in the book along with side notes of the things I liked the most.
She told me she had picked up some brochures and postcards and would send them to me, so that I should expect a package in the mail. It arrived today. Oh, the wonderful things in the package, I was amazed. Before sending the package she informed me I didn't have to send every/anything back to her and I could add them to my scrapbook. Well, this package was amazing, it was loaded with brochures and postcards alright, but there were also amazing booklets, schedules of events and menus from restaurant.
I immediately called her and asked if she was sure she didn't want me to return some of these things and she reassured me, these were copies meant for me. I can't believe all these treasure. So, I'm sure you can imagine what I'm going to be doing today, yep, I'm going to devour every single article and then place them in the appropriate places in my Staycation scrap book.
I gotta' go now, time's a wastin'.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Mall Walking
Here's what I think. We need to adopt rules of the highway for walking the concourses of any mall. Especially during sale times and holidays. It's a simply concept really.
Pretend you are still in your car. Pretend you are on a freeway. Just as cars, trucks, and buses, all stay on 'their side' of the road going in one direction, pedestrians walking the mall concourses should do the same, with planters, benches and mall decorations acting as meridians. All the pedestrians going one direction on one side of the concourse, with all pedestrians going in the other direction staying in their lanes (so to speak).
Imagine, not having to confront a child/package laden stroller charging you doing 10 miles an hour...also, wheel chairs and motorized chairs as well. I for one have on numerous occasions had a lovely conversation with a shopping companion interrupted by pedestrians walking on the wrong side of the road. It seems to me it would not be too difficult to educate pedestrians to the 'one way street' (aisle) concept. Arrows painted or glued/taped to the floors might just do the trick. Plus at each entrance there could be a nice size easel with a message on how pedestrians are to maneuver along the concourses.
Okay, U-turns are required. Suppose the store/boutique you wish to browse/shop is midway down the concourse. This is where the 'median strip' comes in handy and allows for you to make the turn, waiting for a break in traffic and making for the entrance to your particular place of business.
Frankly, I can't believe, with all the thousands, and thousands, and thousands of drivers, someone...including the folks who construct the malls to begin with have not figured this simple concept of directing traffic through the malls. Am I the only one who has ever given this any thought? Don't you think this makes sense?
I've been giving this a lot of thought lately...and have been thinking about how I walk through the concourses it has occurred to me I always, always walk as though I were in a vehicle. Whether going north, south, east or west as I walk a concourse the median is always to my left. Imagine how nicely the traffic would flow if everybody followed this concept.
Of course, this is a 'better late than never' kind of blog, because recently the news, informational TV shows, newspapers and word of mouth have started reporting that malls are....on their way out. And that smaller 'strip malls', on-line shopping and catalog purchases report constant sales and seem to be on the rise. Don't get me wrong, the malls are not going to 'close their doors' anytime in the immediate future...but think about the anchor stores that have already 'jumped' ship. Mervyns comes to mind, and I've heard in some places Macy's and Nordstroms have closed as well as some Sears and JCPenney's stores. If they can't afford to keep their doors open, what chance does 'the little guy' have.
However, regardless where you shop, I think keeping to the right side of any aisle is a good rule of thumb. Think about it.
Pretend you are still in your car. Pretend you are on a freeway. Just as cars, trucks, and buses, all stay on 'their side' of the road going in one direction, pedestrians walking the mall concourses should do the same, with planters, benches and mall decorations acting as meridians. All the pedestrians going one direction on one side of the concourse, with all pedestrians going in the other direction staying in their lanes (so to speak).
Imagine, not having to confront a child/package laden stroller charging you doing 10 miles an hour...also, wheel chairs and motorized chairs as well. I for one have on numerous occasions had a lovely conversation with a shopping companion interrupted by pedestrians walking on the wrong side of the road. It seems to me it would not be too difficult to educate pedestrians to the 'one way street' (aisle) concept. Arrows painted or glued/taped to the floors might just do the trick. Plus at each entrance there could be a nice size easel with a message on how pedestrians are to maneuver along the concourses.
Okay, U-turns are required. Suppose the store/boutique you wish to browse/shop is midway down the concourse. This is where the 'median strip' comes in handy and allows for you to make the turn, waiting for a break in traffic and making for the entrance to your particular place of business.
Frankly, I can't believe, with all the thousands, and thousands, and thousands of drivers, someone...including the folks who construct the malls to begin with have not figured this simple concept of directing traffic through the malls. Am I the only one who has ever given this any thought? Don't you think this makes sense?
I've been giving this a lot of thought lately...and have been thinking about how I walk through the concourses it has occurred to me I always, always walk as though I were in a vehicle. Whether going north, south, east or west as I walk a concourse the median is always to my left. Imagine how nicely the traffic would flow if everybody followed this concept.
Of course, this is a 'better late than never' kind of blog, because recently the news, informational TV shows, newspapers and word of mouth have started reporting that malls are....on their way out. And that smaller 'strip malls', on-line shopping and catalog purchases report constant sales and seem to be on the rise. Don't get me wrong, the malls are not going to 'close their doors' anytime in the immediate future...but think about the anchor stores that have already 'jumped' ship. Mervyns comes to mind, and I've heard in some places Macy's and Nordstroms have closed as well as some Sears and JCPenney's stores. If they can't afford to keep their doors open, what chance does 'the little guy' have.
However, regardless where you shop, I think keeping to the right side of any aisle is a good rule of thumb. Think about it.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Hmmm?
I think I'm going to have to start hanging post-it notes on my shirts. Seriously. This morning I had two ideas on what to write about for my blog today. They were both good. However, I also had stuff to do before I could come to work, and my mind filled up with muddy water and now I can't remember either one of them. Think, Sandra, think.
(Pausing to think.)
(Pausing to think.)
(Pausing to think.)
Okay I give up.
So, here's the thing. Ya'all know I enjoy going to the cameras at Times Square NYC, although I try not to bore you with this, or the eagles anymore, however, (yes, here I go again...last time I hope...but can't actually promise) there is still a great deal of construction going on at The Square and since I happen to like watching heavy equipment at work, and also construction workers at work (LOL) I've been enjoying all the happenings.
Through 'computer magic' we are able to post any particular camera view to something called the archives, and post a comment. I've done that once. Many people do it all the time. Recently there is somebody I'll call Ms. Nitpick, who is very disgruntled with all the construction, and A. has never been personally involved with a construction project and B. never been personally involved with a construction project.
Plus, when I go to the web-site, I not only look at the picture as a whole, I dissect it. I zoom in, I zoom out, I check out every intricacy. Ms. Nitpick on the other hand, tends to only see the mess and gripe, gripe, gripe. Get a grip Ms. Nitpick...the construction will be over, when it's over. I see the accomplishments, she sees the devastation. She makes me laugh, but at the same time I'd like to slap her silly.
I guess we've all had people in our lives who are constant complainers. When life hands them lemons, they suck on them never realizing their potential when you add a little water and sugar. They love to talk about their ailments, find at least one thing wrong with their restaurant dinner, talk constantly about one particular thing till you want to pull your hair out.
Yeah, yeah, I know...I've got my issues too. So, I guess I'm the pot calling the kettle black. However, I hope I do my issues kind of 'tongue in cheek', or at least with a hint of humor to them. And, as I say, I'm now making a special effort to not bore you with my idiosyncrasies and current obsessions. All I want to be is a well rounded crazy person. Which...I think I am. I am, aren't I?
Anyhoo.
Dear Ms. Nitpick,
My mamma always told me "If you can't say something good about something, don't say anything at all."
Sincerely yours,
Crazy person.
(Pausing to think.)
(Pausing to think.)
(Pausing to think.)
Okay I give up.
So, here's the thing. Ya'all know I enjoy going to the cameras at Times Square NYC, although I try not to bore you with this, or the eagles anymore, however, (yes, here I go again...last time I hope...but can't actually promise) there is still a great deal of construction going on at The Square and since I happen to like watching heavy equipment at work, and also construction workers at work (LOL) I've been enjoying all the happenings.
Through 'computer magic' we are able to post any particular camera view to something called the archives, and post a comment. I've done that once. Many people do it all the time. Recently there is somebody I'll call Ms. Nitpick, who is very disgruntled with all the construction, and A. has never been personally involved with a construction project and B. never been personally involved with a construction project.
Plus, when I go to the web-site, I not only look at the picture as a whole, I dissect it. I zoom in, I zoom out, I check out every intricacy. Ms. Nitpick on the other hand, tends to only see the mess and gripe, gripe, gripe. Get a grip Ms. Nitpick...the construction will be over, when it's over. I see the accomplishments, she sees the devastation. She makes me laugh, but at the same time I'd like to slap her silly.
I guess we've all had people in our lives who are constant complainers. When life hands them lemons, they suck on them never realizing their potential when you add a little water and sugar. They love to talk about their ailments, find at least one thing wrong with their restaurant dinner, talk constantly about one particular thing till you want to pull your hair out.
Yeah, yeah, I know...I've got my issues too. So, I guess I'm the pot calling the kettle black. However, I hope I do my issues kind of 'tongue in cheek', or at least with a hint of humor to them. And, as I say, I'm now making a special effort to not bore you with my idiosyncrasies and current obsessions. All I want to be is a well rounded crazy person. Which...I think I am. I am, aren't I?
Anyhoo.
Dear Ms. Nitpick,
My mamma always told me "If you can't say something good about something, don't say anything at all."
Sincerely yours,
Crazy person.
Monday, August 11, 2014
I've come to a conclusion.
And, indeed I have.
Yesterday I wrote about the address books I've had over my lifetime, and how now quite of few of the entries in my current one contain gigantic black X's, because several of members of my family, and quite a few friends have gone to that place where mail in not delivered.
And this got me to thinking about all those funerals, memorial and grave-side services I've attended over the years. I didn't like attending any of them, but wanting to be 'political correct' and certainly did not want to hurt the surviving family's feelings, I always went.
So, after yesterday, I figured it was time to confess. Around the time I turned 75 I made up my mind I was no longer going to attend these occasions...none...I'm done. I've come to the conclusion, these events are not to honor the dead, but for the living...Oh, sure, the dead might be looking down and seeing the gathering...but just might be heading off to play golf on the best country club course they've ever seen.
And all those flowers and house plants, Please, and again...LISTEN UP FAMILY...IF YOU CAN'T SEND ME BOUQUETS AND LOVELY POTTED PLANTS NOW...DON'T BOTHER AFTER I'M LONG GONE. I won't be able to smell them, care for them, or even give a dang for that matter.
Then there are all those casseroles...each with a label on the lid stating: "Please return empty casserole container to..........................." (Supply name on dotted line.). Who really feels like eating after losing a loved one. I didn't...for months. There was so much to take care of.
Anyway, this blog is to let everybody know I'm done attending funerals, memorial and grave-side events. And, I'm really sorry if this hurts your feelings. This has nothing to do with my loving you, or the fact you will be terribly missed. I'm simply going to handle my grieving on my own terms, to heck with political correctness.
Therefore, when I finally bite the bullet, cash in my chips, travel to the golden gate. I really don't want mourning, or any kind of service. Actually, my husband had the right idea, and not one single soul had one bad thing to say about his plan. His will simply stated he wanted his plans carried out as quickly as possible, absolutely no service of any kind (shuddering to think what would happen to me if I did)...so I did exactly what I was told. First his body went to OHSU (Oregon Health and Science University) where he and I had donated our bodies decades ago. Then, while all the family was still in town we threw a party in his honor and talked about his live, his failing health, his work ethic, and his family connections. It was a great time, and I don't remember one single tear being shed.
A little after a year later I got a lovely letter from OHSU stating there would be a memorial service given on the university campus by all the future undergrad doctors in honor of all those people who had donated their bodies over the preceding year. It was lovely. And (here's the kicker) he couldn't get mad at me there was a service...the school did it. All his wishes had been granted.
Oh, in the end there was a cremation, and the ashes were returned to me. I've shared some, while others declined the offer. I've still got them, and would sometime in the future like to hand them over to the Navy and have him buried at sea. I know he would like that...but, I'm just not ready to give them up yet.
And, there you have it, my plans are the same as my husband's, so expect no memorial, funeral or grave-side service. But, dear family and some close personal friends, if you would like to come to a party, let me know I'll add you to the guest list...there will be food, booze and beer, lots of fun and laughter. Just leave your tears at the door.
Yesterday I wrote about the address books I've had over my lifetime, and how now quite of few of the entries in my current one contain gigantic black X's, because several of members of my family, and quite a few friends have gone to that place where mail in not delivered.
And this got me to thinking about all those funerals, memorial and grave-side services I've attended over the years. I didn't like attending any of them, but wanting to be 'political correct' and certainly did not want to hurt the surviving family's feelings, I always went.
So, after yesterday, I figured it was time to confess. Around the time I turned 75 I made up my mind I was no longer going to attend these occasions...none...I'm done. I've come to the conclusion, these events are not to honor the dead, but for the living...Oh, sure, the dead might be looking down and seeing the gathering...but just might be heading off to play golf on the best country club course they've ever seen.
And all those flowers and house plants, Please, and again...LISTEN UP FAMILY...IF YOU CAN'T SEND ME BOUQUETS AND LOVELY POTTED PLANTS NOW...DON'T BOTHER AFTER I'M LONG GONE. I won't be able to smell them, care for them, or even give a dang for that matter.
Then there are all those casseroles...each with a label on the lid stating: "Please return empty casserole container to..........................." (Supply name on dotted line.). Who really feels like eating after losing a loved one. I didn't...for months. There was so much to take care of.
Anyway, this blog is to let everybody know I'm done attending funerals, memorial and grave-side events. And, I'm really sorry if this hurts your feelings. This has nothing to do with my loving you, or the fact you will be terribly missed. I'm simply going to handle my grieving on my own terms, to heck with political correctness.
Therefore, when I finally bite the bullet, cash in my chips, travel to the golden gate. I really don't want mourning, or any kind of service. Actually, my husband had the right idea, and not one single soul had one bad thing to say about his plan. His will simply stated he wanted his plans carried out as quickly as possible, absolutely no service of any kind (shuddering to think what would happen to me if I did)...so I did exactly what I was told. First his body went to OHSU (Oregon Health and Science University) where he and I had donated our bodies decades ago. Then, while all the family was still in town we threw a party in his honor and talked about his live, his failing health, his work ethic, and his family connections. It was a great time, and I don't remember one single tear being shed.
A little after a year later I got a lovely letter from OHSU stating there would be a memorial service given on the university campus by all the future undergrad doctors in honor of all those people who had donated their bodies over the preceding year. It was lovely. And (here's the kicker) he couldn't get mad at me there was a service...the school did it. All his wishes had been granted.
Oh, in the end there was a cremation, and the ashes were returned to me. I've shared some, while others declined the offer. I've still got them, and would sometime in the future like to hand them over to the Navy and have him buried at sea. I know he would like that...but, I'm just not ready to give them up yet.
And, there you have it, my plans are the same as my husband's, so expect no memorial, funeral or grave-side service. But, dear family and some close personal friends, if you would like to come to a party, let me know I'll add you to the guest list...there will be food, booze and beer, lots of fun and laughter. Just leave your tears at the door.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Address books
The hardest thing about getting old is, my address book. I used to write all my addresses in ink...what did I know, I was young. First, girlfriends got married and their names changed. Then, I realized people moved, a lot, and my address book became a bunch of scratch-overs and white-outs. It was ridiculous. When I got married which caused a whole new bunch of addresses to appear in my book. This caused me to buy a whole new address book and start over from scratch. The book looked great for a couple of years. Then scratch-overs...white-outs began to appear on some of the pages.
Then, I had one of those Ah-ha moments. I bought a new book, and I switched from using ink to make entries to using a pencil. Wow, was I smart or what? This actually worked well for quite some time. However, I discovered some folks moved more often than others, and some pages got worn so thin, I had to add strips of tape to the backs of some pages to keep from erasing holes in them.
I tried not to let my messy address book bother me, but after a while I got lazy, and every time somebody sent me a new address, I would rip it from the back of the envelope and shove the little slips of paper into the back of my book. When the slips of paper reached about twenty, I bought myself a new book and in excellent penmanship, and with #2 pencil transferred the addresses from the slips of paper into the book.
I think it had flowers, or maybe butterflies on it. Boy, was I a happy camper.
Then, something happened...I got old, and I began to get clippings from newspapers about folks I'd known most of my life...they were obituaries, funeral notices, and messages about memorial/graveside services. As a result, names and addresses began to disappear from my address book...permanently. Erase, Erase, Erase.
A few years back I had another idea, and I bought a new book; again neatly adding all my active addresses. Since I was still getting snail-mail (not so much any more) I decided to go back to the plan of simply using the addresses that came attached to envelopes. (By now everybody was using 'stick on' address labels.) As I got mail I would neatly cut the label off the envelop, and simply tape them in front of my hand written entry. Whoa, buddy! At the same time, rather than trying to erase those entries needing permanent removal, I simply applied a gigantic X across it.
This system worked quite well, and I still have the address book, but seldom use it any more. But, there is one flaw to my creation. After a while, ripping out the address labels caused the tape to either pile up, or rip the page. I probably should consider getting a new book. Then again, maybe not. After all, my list of friends is getting smaller, and people are still on the move.
Today there's a much better alternative.
My computer. Yep, good old computer. Most of my physical address book is already there, it really wouldn't take much time or effort to add the balance of the book. Plus, when another friend makes that permanent departure, a simple touch of the delete, delete, delete tab will keep my electronic book neat, clean and up to date.
Way to go electronic gadget. Oh, and thank you.
Then, I had one of those Ah-ha moments. I bought a new book, and I switched from using ink to make entries to using a pencil. Wow, was I smart or what? This actually worked well for quite some time. However, I discovered some folks moved more often than others, and some pages got worn so thin, I had to add strips of tape to the backs of some pages to keep from erasing holes in them.
I tried not to let my messy address book bother me, but after a while I got lazy, and every time somebody sent me a new address, I would rip it from the back of the envelope and shove the little slips of paper into the back of my book. When the slips of paper reached about twenty, I bought myself a new book and in excellent penmanship, and with #2 pencil transferred the addresses from the slips of paper into the book.
I think it had flowers, or maybe butterflies on it. Boy, was I a happy camper.
Then, something happened...I got old, and I began to get clippings from newspapers about folks I'd known most of my life...they were obituaries, funeral notices, and messages about memorial/graveside services. As a result, names and addresses began to disappear from my address book...permanently. Erase, Erase, Erase.
A few years back I had another idea, and I bought a new book; again neatly adding all my active addresses. Since I was still getting snail-mail (not so much any more) I decided to go back to the plan of simply using the addresses that came attached to envelopes. (By now everybody was using 'stick on' address labels.) As I got mail I would neatly cut the label off the envelop, and simply tape them in front of my hand written entry. Whoa, buddy! At the same time, rather than trying to erase those entries needing permanent removal, I simply applied a gigantic X across it.
This system worked quite well, and I still have the address book, but seldom use it any more. But, there is one flaw to my creation. After a while, ripping out the address labels caused the tape to either pile up, or rip the page. I probably should consider getting a new book. Then again, maybe not. After all, my list of friends is getting smaller, and people are still on the move.
Today there's a much better alternative.
My computer. Yep, good old computer. Most of my physical address book is already there, it really wouldn't take much time or effort to add the balance of the book. Plus, when another friend makes that permanent departure, a simple touch of the delete, delete, delete tab will keep my electronic book neat, clean and up to date.
Way to go electronic gadget. Oh, and thank you.
Friday, August 8, 2014
I used to
...like watching "Mythbusters" then suddenly they went off the grid for a while, then came back sporadically, went off again, and now are back. Sadly, they don't seem to have a particular time slot and I come across their shows mostly by accident.
Last night I was 'channel surfing' and (Insert musical notes) DA, DA. There in the nine o'clock slot was a new episode of "Mythbusters" followed by another new episode at ten. I was thrilled, it was like having friends stop by for a visit.
The first show was my favorite. It dealt with driving myths. As you all know, I don't drive, which is why (I think) I so enjoy shows (Fast and Loud-Orange County Choppers, etc), and events like the Indy 500 and drag races.
So when I saw they were going to explore driving myths, I was very intrigued. The first one dealt with 'traffic jams'. What does it take to begin a traffic jam? One would expect an accident, a car with a flat tire on the side of the freeway, an object thrown or fallen onto one of the lanes...something big, right? Well, wrong, all it really takes is a person 'tapping his/her brakes' and slightly lowering their speed. Seriously! That's all it took. In no time at all 18 cars, going around in a very large circle ended up in a traffic jam. It was amazing to watch. One car applying it's breaks caused the 17 others to begin tapping their brakes, and the traffic jam began.
Then, another was which is better, a four way stop, or a round about? What do you think? In a fifteen minute period a four way stop allowed 300 some cars to go through the intersection, while the round about allowed over 400 vehicles to proceed through an intersection during the same time frame. Again...amazing.
A police officer directing traffic through an intersection during the same time frame was the worst, allowing 200 some vehicles to go through the intersection...thank goodness we don't do that anymore...except in emergencies.
There were other myths, too. But the other one that I enjoyed was when the young Mythbusters decided to prove...on a four hour trip, which is faster, traveling by car, or plane. So, going from San Francisco to Los Angeles, who do you think won? Was it the plane trip or the car? Even thought the plane trip took the drive to the airport, going through check in and security, waiting for the flight to leave, actual flight time, arrival at the Burbank Airport, baggage retrieval, and car rental that trip was shorter by...(are you ready for this?). Seven whole minutes. (However, the guy who took the plane had a great deal more fun, while the two in the car had to endure "99 bottles of beer on the wall", miles and miles of boring landscape, potty and gas breaks and eating 'fast food' on the road.)
Man, what a great hour. In spite of never knowing when I will see the shows again, really wish the Mythbusters were on every week, or a least I knew for sure when they were going to be on so I would not miss any of the episodes. I can only hope they don't get cancelled, although I know in my heart of hearts they will, eventually. I will miss them.
Last night I was 'channel surfing' and (Insert musical notes) DA, DA. There in the nine o'clock slot was a new episode of "Mythbusters" followed by another new episode at ten. I was thrilled, it was like having friends stop by for a visit.
The first show was my favorite. It dealt with driving myths. As you all know, I don't drive, which is why (I think) I so enjoy shows (Fast and Loud-Orange County Choppers, etc), and events like the Indy 500 and drag races.
So when I saw they were going to explore driving myths, I was very intrigued. The first one dealt with 'traffic jams'. What does it take to begin a traffic jam? One would expect an accident, a car with a flat tire on the side of the freeway, an object thrown or fallen onto one of the lanes...something big, right? Well, wrong, all it really takes is a person 'tapping his/her brakes' and slightly lowering their speed. Seriously! That's all it took. In no time at all 18 cars, going around in a very large circle ended up in a traffic jam. It was amazing to watch. One car applying it's breaks caused the 17 others to begin tapping their brakes, and the traffic jam began.
Then, another was which is better, a four way stop, or a round about? What do you think? In a fifteen minute period a four way stop allowed 300 some cars to go through the intersection, while the round about allowed over 400 vehicles to proceed through an intersection during the same time frame. Again...amazing.
A police officer directing traffic through an intersection during the same time frame was the worst, allowing 200 some vehicles to go through the intersection...thank goodness we don't do that anymore...except in emergencies.
There were other myths, too. But the other one that I enjoyed was when the young Mythbusters decided to prove...on a four hour trip, which is faster, traveling by car, or plane. So, going from San Francisco to Los Angeles, who do you think won? Was it the plane trip or the car? Even thought the plane trip took the drive to the airport, going through check in and security, waiting for the flight to leave, actual flight time, arrival at the Burbank Airport, baggage retrieval, and car rental that trip was shorter by...(are you ready for this?). Seven whole minutes. (However, the guy who took the plane had a great deal more fun, while the two in the car had to endure "99 bottles of beer on the wall", miles and miles of boring landscape, potty and gas breaks and eating 'fast food' on the road.)
Man, what a great hour. In spite of never knowing when I will see the shows again, really wish the Mythbusters were on every week, or a least I knew for sure when they were going to be on so I would not miss any of the episodes. I can only hope they don't get cancelled, although I know in my heart of hearts they will, eventually. I will miss them.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Pinky Marie
Quite some time ago I wrote my blog about my favorite children's book. I must have read it at least a hundred times, because when I wrote the synopsis I got the story pretty much spot on.
Every once in a while I will check the 'stats' related to my blog to see if anybody is reading it, where they live, and if they have left any comments. Some days my readership is higher than others, I guess it depends on what I write about. Let's face it it runs quite a gambit.
Here's the thing. Of all the blogs I've written, (I'm moving up to the three hundred mark) the one I wrote about Pinky Marie has gotten the most attention, and comments. I was thinking about this again this morning because last week I saw somebody and checked out the Pinky Marie posting again. I discovered it has been looked at 111 times since I wrote it, and it has also the most comments as well.
I am at a loss to understand this. By today's standards this sweet little tale is probably far from being political correct, and it certainly isn't filled with blood and gore, which seems to be the trend of books today, so what makes this one of the most looked at blogs to date? I don't suppose I will ever get an answer to this question.
However, I'm delighted to find there are several folks out there who have commented that this was also their favorite children's book as well. As a matter of fact, not long ago I got a note stating someone had found their copy of Pinky Marie while they were straightening up an attic and how thrilled they were. I was thrilled for them. I wish I had my copy, which I'm sure is long, long gone. You see, when I moved across country I had to leave my tiny library behind, and when the homestead was sold, so was my tiny library...goodbye Pinky Marie.
Still, the memories I have of that delightful story will remain with me forever. Oh shoot...when I was asked recently what I wanted for my birthday I should have said a copy of Pinky Marie...I know there are a few out there.
Dang it.
Anyway, If anybody out there has any idea why this particular blog gets so much attention, let me know, cause, I sure can't figure it out.
Every once in a while I will check the 'stats' related to my blog to see if anybody is reading it, where they live, and if they have left any comments. Some days my readership is higher than others, I guess it depends on what I write about. Let's face it it runs quite a gambit.
Here's the thing. Of all the blogs I've written, (I'm moving up to the three hundred mark) the one I wrote about Pinky Marie has gotten the most attention, and comments. I was thinking about this again this morning because last week I saw somebody and checked out the Pinky Marie posting again. I discovered it has been looked at 111 times since I wrote it, and it has also the most comments as well.
I am at a loss to understand this. By today's standards this sweet little tale is probably far from being political correct, and it certainly isn't filled with blood and gore, which seems to be the trend of books today, so what makes this one of the most looked at blogs to date? I don't suppose I will ever get an answer to this question.
However, I'm delighted to find there are several folks out there who have commented that this was also their favorite children's book as well. As a matter of fact, not long ago I got a note stating someone had found their copy of Pinky Marie while they were straightening up an attic and how thrilled they were. I was thrilled for them. I wish I had my copy, which I'm sure is long, long gone. You see, when I moved across country I had to leave my tiny library behind, and when the homestead was sold, so was my tiny library...goodbye Pinky Marie.
Still, the memories I have of that delightful story will remain with me forever. Oh shoot...when I was asked recently what I wanted for my birthday I should have said a copy of Pinky Marie...I know there are a few out there.
Dang it.
Anyway, If anybody out there has any idea why this particular blog gets so much attention, let me know, cause, I sure can't figure it out.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Then,
...there are the remains.
Okay, yesterday afternoon, one of my daughters came to visit. We chatted about a lot of things, and then I mentioned my blog, and how I got a 'birthday' note from a local crematorium. Was that irony, or poor/good timing? We both had a good laugh.
Then she asked, "What do you want done with your remains?
Hmmm. I have to admit I had not thought of that. And, barring anyone wanting to spend the thousands of bucks having them turned into diamonds I just figured they would sit around...somewhere...in a Mason jar or old coffee can collecting dust. LOL.
I've made no arrangement for them in my will. Hmmm?
She suggest possibly scattering them over the countryside in Wales. A good idea, but quite expensive.
Then she said "How about New York City?"
By golly I think she's got something there! Yes, I think I'd like that. Perhaps they could (in the still of the night) pry loose one of the sidewalk slabs, pour me under it and replace the slab. Yes, I really, really like that idea.
Of course, then the conversation just got plain silly. She suggested, I didn't necessarily have to be 'buried' there, and whoever got the job would certainly not get arrested for destroying public property if the ashes were simply 'scattered' there. Good point! I imagine getting bailed out of jail in NYC would cost a
pret-ttee-y penny. Beside, NYC never sleeps, and my heirs would most certainly get caught prying up a hunk of concrete.
Then, she hit upon a really, really great idea. One I think they would all enjoy. Here's the plan.
1. Ship my remains to Penn Station and lock up in a locker. (Apparently you can't just put me in a suitcase as a means of transportation.)
2. Fly to NYC, meet at the station and retrieve my remains.
3. Proceed to hotel, check in and retire to rooms.
4. Di-vie up the ashes.
5. Cut holes in pockets of clothing.
6. Proceed to Times Square.
7. Walk along, occasionally shaking left or right leg, allowing ashes to 'scatter' along The Square.
8. Assignment completed, find a nice restaurant and enjoy a fine dinner...on me.
Don't you just love it when a plan comes together.
Okay, yesterday afternoon, one of my daughters came to visit. We chatted about a lot of things, and then I mentioned my blog, and how I got a 'birthday' note from a local crematorium. Was that irony, or poor/good timing? We both had a good laugh.
Then she asked, "What do you want done with your remains?
Hmmm. I have to admit I had not thought of that. And, barring anyone wanting to spend the thousands of bucks having them turned into diamonds I just figured they would sit around...somewhere...in a Mason jar or old coffee can collecting dust. LOL.
I've made no arrangement for them in my will. Hmmm?
She suggest possibly scattering them over the countryside in Wales. A good idea, but quite expensive.
Then she said "How about New York City?"
By golly I think she's got something there! Yes, I think I'd like that. Perhaps they could (in the still of the night) pry loose one of the sidewalk slabs, pour me under it and replace the slab. Yes, I really, really like that idea.
Of course, then the conversation just got plain silly. She suggested, I didn't necessarily have to be 'buried' there, and whoever got the job would certainly not get arrested for destroying public property if the ashes were simply 'scattered' there. Good point! I imagine getting bailed out of jail in NYC would cost a
pret-ttee-y penny. Beside, NYC never sleeps, and my heirs would most certainly get caught prying up a hunk of concrete.
Then, she hit upon a really, really great idea. One I think they would all enjoy. Here's the plan.
1. Ship my remains to Penn Station and lock up in a locker. (Apparently you can't just put me in a suitcase as a means of transportation.)
2. Fly to NYC, meet at the station and retrieve my remains.
3. Proceed to hotel, check in and retire to rooms.
4. Di-vie up the ashes.
5. Cut holes in pockets of clothing.
6. Proceed to Times Square.
7. Walk along, occasionally shaking left or right leg, allowing ashes to 'scatter' along The Square.
8. Assignment completed, find a nice restaurant and enjoy a fine dinner...on me.
Don't you just love it when a plan comes together.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Things to do...
...when it gets to be 90 degrees.
1. Nap/sleep
2. Drink lots of water (Ice cubes and flavoring required)
3. Keep hair wet
4. Wear at little clothing as possible (We don't want to get arrested do we?)
5. Sit in front of a fan/air conditioner
6. Read a book (this activity does not bring on perspiration)
I've been reading a book. Dave Barry's I'll Mature When I'm Dead. He's a very funny man, I enjoy his humor and he frequently has me in stitches. The same holds true for Bill Bryson, another wonderful writer who views of life are seen through sometimes warped rose colored glasses. Just like I do.
Anyway, this morning I was sitting out in my front yard, on one of my park benches shaded by one of my yard umbrellas reading I'll Mature When I'm Dead and came upon the chapter The Health-Care Crisis (Wash Your Hands After Reading This).
In this chapter he gives a kind of rundown on his take of the history of medicine. I'm telling you, I was in stitches (not the surgical kind) practically rolling around my front yard. (There were no neighbors roaming about, so don't worry, men in white coats will not be stopping by later.) He begins with Shamans, discusses Egyptian, Greek and Roman accomplishments then briefly touches on the Middle Ages...who's only accomplishment seems to be clothing the dead and finally moves on to modern medicine and our current health care system.
He has an imaginary patient, I will call Sandy. She imagines she needs a new and better prescription and visits her doctor to inquire if it would help her. And so begins her saga of visits to Labs, Specialists, EKG's, MRI's, CAT scans and a great deal more poking and prodding. All of this was terribly funny, yet oh, so true. I was especially captivated by his description of the clinic waiting room; and the wait that is excruciating long, boring, and spent perusing years old magazines while (at the same time) checking out the other patients and wondering what the heck you just might catch from them.
Eventually a young woman, clad in a smock that is supposed to be comforting and cheerful, appears at a doorway, calls your name and ushers you into an exam room. You are asked to remove your shoes and step onto a scale. (I don't know about you, but I hold my breath in the hope it will reduce my weight by a couple of pounds.) Next, I'm made to come face to face with a wall while a piece of metal eventually comes to rest on the top of my head. And the smock clad woman announces, I've lost yet another fraction of an inch and I'm now less than five feet tall.
She takes my blood pressure, announces it's high, to sit quietly for a few minutes and she'll try again.
Oh, and here, put on this gown.
(I've learned to take a magazine with me knowing I'm going to have a lot of alone time.)
Smock lady returns, announces my pressure is better, the doctor will be here soon. Off she goes.
I finish my magazine and begin to look around the room. Posters adorn the walls and there is an over-sized calendar on the wall. There are cabinets, with closed doors. And counter spaces with stuff on them. My mind wanders.
Are there hidden cameras in here? I check ceiling corners and cabinet tops. Nothing looks suspicious, still I can't help wondering if in some tiny room I'm being watched to see if I'm going to walk around the room and fill my purse with tongue depressors, cotton balls, Q-tips or maybe that obnoxious 'thing' they use when you have to have a pap test done. (Who wouldn't love to drag one of those home as a memento?)
By now I feel forgotten, every once in a while I hear footsteps, but they fade away. There's an occasional laugh...have I done something funny. I would like to open the exam room door and flee. But, I'm afraid, what if I open the door and it leads to an alternative universe, or even worse what if I fall....
into....
oblivion.
Dave states in his book how the doctor tap-pity taps on his computer during the 'physical', my doctor does the same. She asks a question and as I answer she is tap-pity tapping my response into her computer. She nods occasionally, so I know I'm answering correctly. Now, don't get me wrong. I actually like my newest doctor, even though I didn't have a lot of choice in getting her. You pick a doctor from a long list at the clinic of your choice, if the one you think you might like is accepting new patients, you're in luck. Otherwise you have to keep going down through the list. I got lucky, my doctor is great, I think she actually likes me, and she actually listens.
Anyway, I have an appointment to see her in early September. Like Dave, I wish I could have a good dose of anesthetic so I could sleep through the whole thing, and then not remember a thing about it afterwards, but I know we've not advanced that far ahead in medical history. I guess I will just have to bite the bullet and charge full steam ahead and try to find humor in it all.
Now, here's the thing, according to the 'rules', I must have an annual physical in order to keep my medications coming on a regular basis, and technically this visit is for that purpose. Oh, guess I will get weighed, un-heightened and have my BP checked (yes it will be up...it always is....I hate doctors). This year my 'physical' is actually close to my birth date, which is today.
And, here (finally) is what I actually wanted to share today. Yesterday I went to the mailbox, and inside were envelopes that appeared to be birthday cards...they were. Then there was an envelop that had computer generated printing on it. When I ripped it open it was a brochure for a Cremation Service. This cracked me up!
Dear Sandra, it read.
They want to "pre-plan my final wishes" to:
1 Remove the emotional and financial burden from my loved ones
2 Ensure harmony and peace of mind among loved ones during a particularly stressful time
3 Find a plan that is both dignified and affordable.
Please let us supply more information. I'm under no obligation.
Sincerely,
blah, blah, blah.
Now...what kind of a birthday present is that????
Dear Crematorium:
No sweat...I've donated my body to science...memorial service will be handled by them, cremation to immediately follow.
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Sandra
Happy birthday to me.
.........and, many more.
1. Nap/sleep
2. Drink lots of water (Ice cubes and flavoring required)
3. Keep hair wet
4. Wear at little clothing as possible (We don't want to get arrested do we?)
5. Sit in front of a fan/air conditioner
6. Read a book (this activity does not bring on perspiration)
I've been reading a book. Dave Barry's I'll Mature When I'm Dead. He's a very funny man, I enjoy his humor and he frequently has me in stitches. The same holds true for Bill Bryson, another wonderful writer who views of life are seen through sometimes warped rose colored glasses. Just like I do.
Anyway, this morning I was sitting out in my front yard, on one of my park benches shaded by one of my yard umbrellas reading I'll Mature When I'm Dead and came upon the chapter The Health-Care Crisis (Wash Your Hands After Reading This).
In this chapter he gives a kind of rundown on his take of the history of medicine. I'm telling you, I was in stitches (not the surgical kind) practically rolling around my front yard. (There were no neighbors roaming about, so don't worry, men in white coats will not be stopping by later.) He begins with Shamans, discusses Egyptian, Greek and Roman accomplishments then briefly touches on the Middle Ages...who's only accomplishment seems to be clothing the dead and finally moves on to modern medicine and our current health care system.
He has an imaginary patient, I will call Sandy. She imagines she needs a new and better prescription and visits her doctor to inquire if it would help her. And so begins her saga of visits to Labs, Specialists, EKG's, MRI's, CAT scans and a great deal more poking and prodding. All of this was terribly funny, yet oh, so true. I was especially captivated by his description of the clinic waiting room; and the wait that is excruciating long, boring, and spent perusing years old magazines while (at the same time) checking out the other patients and wondering what the heck you just might catch from them.
Eventually a young woman, clad in a smock that is supposed to be comforting and cheerful, appears at a doorway, calls your name and ushers you into an exam room. You are asked to remove your shoes and step onto a scale. (I don't know about you, but I hold my breath in the hope it will reduce my weight by a couple of pounds.) Next, I'm made to come face to face with a wall while a piece of metal eventually comes to rest on the top of my head. And the smock clad woman announces, I've lost yet another fraction of an inch and I'm now less than five feet tall.
She takes my blood pressure, announces it's high, to sit quietly for a few minutes and she'll try again.
Oh, and here, put on this gown.
(I've learned to take a magazine with me knowing I'm going to have a lot of alone time.)
Smock lady returns, announces my pressure is better, the doctor will be here soon. Off she goes.
I finish my magazine and begin to look around the room. Posters adorn the walls and there is an over-sized calendar on the wall. There are cabinets, with closed doors. And counter spaces with stuff on them. My mind wanders.
Are there hidden cameras in here? I check ceiling corners and cabinet tops. Nothing looks suspicious, still I can't help wondering if in some tiny room I'm being watched to see if I'm going to walk around the room and fill my purse with tongue depressors, cotton balls, Q-tips or maybe that obnoxious 'thing' they use when you have to have a pap test done. (Who wouldn't love to drag one of those home as a memento?)
By now I feel forgotten, every once in a while I hear footsteps, but they fade away. There's an occasional laugh...have I done something funny. I would like to open the exam room door and flee. But, I'm afraid, what if I open the door and it leads to an alternative universe, or even worse what if I fall....
into....
oblivion.
Dave states in his book how the doctor tap-pity taps on his computer during the 'physical', my doctor does the same. She asks a question and as I answer she is tap-pity tapping my response into her computer. She nods occasionally, so I know I'm answering correctly. Now, don't get me wrong. I actually like my newest doctor, even though I didn't have a lot of choice in getting her. You pick a doctor from a long list at the clinic of your choice, if the one you think you might like is accepting new patients, you're in luck. Otherwise you have to keep going down through the list. I got lucky, my doctor is great, I think she actually likes me, and she actually listens.
Anyway, I have an appointment to see her in early September. Like Dave, I wish I could have a good dose of anesthetic so I could sleep through the whole thing, and then not remember a thing about it afterwards, but I know we've not advanced that far ahead in medical history. I guess I will just have to bite the bullet and charge full steam ahead and try to find humor in it all.
Now, here's the thing, according to the 'rules', I must have an annual physical in order to keep my medications coming on a regular basis, and technically this visit is for that purpose. Oh, guess I will get weighed, un-heightened and have my BP checked (yes it will be up...it always is....I hate doctors). This year my 'physical' is actually close to my birth date, which is today.
And, here (finally) is what I actually wanted to share today. Yesterday I went to the mailbox, and inside were envelopes that appeared to be birthday cards...they were. Then there was an envelop that had computer generated printing on it. When I ripped it open it was a brochure for a Cremation Service. This cracked me up!
Dear Sandra, it read.
They want to "pre-plan my final wishes" to:
1 Remove the emotional and financial burden from my loved ones
2 Ensure harmony and peace of mind among loved ones during a particularly stressful time
3 Find a plan that is both dignified and affordable.
Please let us supply more information. I'm under no obligation.
Sincerely,
blah, blah, blah.
Now...what kind of a birthday present is that????
Dear Crematorium:
No sweat...I've donated my body to science...memorial service will be handled by them, cremation to immediately follow.
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Sandra
Happy birthday to me.
.........and, many more.
Friday, August 1, 2014
What's a body to do?
Okay, okay, okay...I confess. When the first hot spell hit I was e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y tempted to call my local pizza delivery place and order some pizzas, wings and some pastas too so I would not have to heat up my own kitchen by cooking.
In the end, I decided against that, after all this kind of food is (supposedly) not good for you...fat, cholesterol, calories, etc. etc. Instead I went about cooking up a batch of baked beans and making homemade salads, even opening cans of pickled beets and three bean salad. The food lasted through the heat wave, I felt smug and quite proud of myself.
Then, this second heat wave came. Dang, I was sick and tired of salads, beans and pickled beets. I could not...would not be eating any of those.
When I was watching television night before last, I was hungry, but didn't know what I wanted to eat and frankly had no energy to prepare a meal. Sure I could open a few cans of vegetables and fruit and come up with something, I simply didn't want to. Then, there it was...a commercial for my favorite pizza place. THEY HAD DEALS. REALLY, REALLY GRRREAT DEALS.
I try to resist, the commercial will be over in 30, 29, 28....15, 14, 13 seconds and that delicious food will disappear from my TV screen. Frankie enters the room waving a limp stick of celery looking glummer than the kid that got kicked out of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory...oh, dear, food again.
Frankie: "Here's the deal. You fix something to eat and I won't kill you."
Me: (Mildly interested) “Well, that's a little harsh."
Frankie: "I mean it. I want food, substantial food. There's tons of stuff in the kitchen, go fix something."
Me: (Sprawled on the sofa) “You know how to cook, you fix something."
Frankie: (Dramatically falling into a chair) "It's too hot, I don't have the energy, I don't want to."
Me: "Well, neither do I."
We do the stare down.
Another commercial fills my TV screen; this one advertises a sandwich, chips and a drink for five bucks. Oh my, that sandwich looks good.
Frankie: "Do they deliver?"
Me: "Nope."
Silence, except for the sounds of stomachs growling.
Another commercial advertising meats being BBQed. I swear I could smell them.
Now, I honestly don't know who 'blinked first', but we both reached the computer at the same time. Both with the same thought...food.
I'm embarrassed to admit this, but in my beautifully alphabetized 'favorites list' is the name of a particular pizza place. When I log in, they cheerfully say, "Hi Sandra, welcome back. What can we do for you today?"
Duh!
If you please...
...two pizzas, two pastas (with bread sticks) and a bucket of wings. Yep,...real food, (totally not good for you) food will be at my front door in approximately 30 minutes.
Hello, Pizza Guy!
Frankie and I break these items into manageable packages, (nibbling on chicken wings as we work) we freeze some, refrigerate others and then return to our seats with a plate full of food to resume watching all those murders on our favorite mystery channel.
Soon the sounds of tummy growls are gone.
Buuuuuurrrrrrrrppppppppppp!
In the end, I decided against that, after all this kind of food is (supposedly) not good for you...fat, cholesterol, calories, etc. etc. Instead I went about cooking up a batch of baked beans and making homemade salads, even opening cans of pickled beets and three bean salad. The food lasted through the heat wave, I felt smug and quite proud of myself.
Then, this second heat wave came. Dang, I was sick and tired of salads, beans and pickled beets. I could not...would not be eating any of those.
When I was watching television night before last, I was hungry, but didn't know what I wanted to eat and frankly had no energy to prepare a meal. Sure I could open a few cans of vegetables and fruit and come up with something, I simply didn't want to. Then, there it was...a commercial for my favorite pizza place. THEY HAD DEALS. REALLY, REALLY GRRREAT DEALS.
I try to resist, the commercial will be over in 30, 29, 28....15, 14, 13 seconds and that delicious food will disappear from my TV screen. Frankie enters the room waving a limp stick of celery looking glummer than the kid that got kicked out of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory...oh, dear, food again.
Frankie: "Here's the deal. You fix something to eat and I won't kill you."
Me: (Mildly interested) “Well, that's a little harsh."
Frankie: "I mean it. I want food, substantial food. There's tons of stuff in the kitchen, go fix something."
Me: (Sprawled on the sofa) “You know how to cook, you fix something."
Frankie: (Dramatically falling into a chair) "It's too hot, I don't have the energy, I don't want to."
Me: "Well, neither do I."
We do the stare down.
Another commercial fills my TV screen; this one advertises a sandwich, chips and a drink for five bucks. Oh my, that sandwich looks good.
Frankie: "Do they deliver?"
Me: "Nope."
Silence, except for the sounds of stomachs growling.
Another commercial advertising meats being BBQed. I swear I could smell them.
Now, I honestly don't know who 'blinked first', but we both reached the computer at the same time. Both with the same thought...food.
I'm embarrassed to admit this, but in my beautifully alphabetized 'favorites list' is the name of a particular pizza place. When I log in, they cheerfully say, "Hi Sandra, welcome back. What can we do for you today?"
Duh!
If you please...
...two pizzas, two pastas (with bread sticks) and a bucket of wings. Yep,...real food, (totally not good for you) food will be at my front door in approximately 30 minutes.
Hello, Pizza Guy!
Frankie and I break these items into manageable packages, (nibbling on chicken wings as we work) we freeze some, refrigerate others and then return to our seats with a plate full of food to resume watching all those murders on our favorite mystery channel.
Soon the sounds of tummy growls are gone.
Buuuuuurrrrrrrrppppppppppp!
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