SNOW !!!!!!

Yesterday, it snowed. Of course it picked the day when I had to drive Steve down into the metro for a long-awaited doctor's appointment. He was already nervous about it, as his previous visit to the same office had been very painful, so bad he threatened to walk out (again!) if there was a repeat, despite the possible consequences of no chance at back surgery. I had been hoping the snow wouldn't give him a chance to cancel preemptively.  It didn't.

I got to face my first real snow driving in over ten years. That's really why we moved back north, right?

WRONG!

 We had been planning to sit quietly in the house all winter, well stocked up on all essentials, just keeping warm and connecting to the world electronically. Then I got my part time job. Plans changed, although I drew the line at driving on ice in the hills in that location, and it was agreed to. This wasn't ice, just 5" of snow, and I was not going to be the reason delaying Steve's appointment after waiting months for it.

 I have long been that slow car on the slick roads that many of you line up behind, waiting for your chance to do something crazy to get where you're going ten minutes faster. You can just leave earlier, as far as I'm concerned. Too many of you out there have forgotten that golden rule of winter driving, that in the lack of traction, inertia rules. I have no pity for you when you have to learn for the umpteenth time the hard way, and I pass you down in a ditch or up straddling a guardrail, waiting for some wrecker to finally get to you, the 73rd vehicle on their list that day, while you wait to pay your tuition on your latest lesson on snow driving. I just feel relief that you didn't try to charge me for the price of your "tuition". It's been done too many times already.

We left yesterday giving an extra hour for a normally only 45 minute drive. Most places weren't too slick, but a fair number weren't close to dry. You could see two lanes of ice laid down in an otherwise  dry looking lane, especially under overpasses. There were lots of choices whether to drive slightly off to their left, or to their right. Quick! Which side? Decide fast, move slowly. get through safely. Obviously a lot of drivers hadn't figured that out yet. I lost count of the accidents we passed, but all the flashing lights gave plenty of warning. It started even before we cleared the connected small towns on our way through the lakes area into the countryside on a national highway heading to the freeway. 

Even before the freeway I felt the need to pull over to ditch an insistent tailgater who apparently figured riding my tail on a two lane highway would make me speed up. Heads up, out there: tailgating me makes me slow down, every time, all road conditions, because now should anything happen I have to try to drive and brake for two, one of which is a certified idiot! The other of us has well over 2 million driving miles under my belt without any at-fault accidents. Yes, I said MILLION! Two of them. Plus whatever I added in 12 years of snowbirding. I'm not claiming no accidents. But when you can't figure out how to slow enough on ice to prevent a) rear ending me where I'm stopped at a red light, and shoving me out into cross traffic, or b)  can't stop at the stop sign before popping out onto the highway right in front of where I'm driving past the hill blocking any view of you, at  a mere 30 mph because it's iced, and we connect, it's not my fault! 

Luckily the freeway, even with the iced lanes, was good for a steady 45 at its worst, and there's a good passing lane for those heavier vehicles who don't need to bully me into driving recklessly. Yes, we did pass more of them who needed to be extricated from where they landed, including one along the oncoming side involving two flatbed trucks and cops ahead and behind. We couldn't see the vehicles needing to be removed from where the ground dropped off on the far side from where we were driving. Steve looked while I drove but one white corner of something was all that was still high and close enough to the freeway to be visible.

Once we approached a junction of two freeways in the metro, where each of the 4 lanes of the one we were on went in different directions at the junction, I chose to take the exit ahead of the congestion, take that county road to the minor highway to a major street to Steve's doctor's office.  We arrived 20 minutes early, safe, cozy, unruffled, and warm.

The appointment went well, with a possibility of surgery in about 6 weeks. The snow had stopped by the drive home, ice lanes were gone, and roads were clear until we got back into lakes country again. I presume the plows will have been working all night, except the part where the plowed ridge at the street end of our parking pad likely still sits. I signed up for paying to have the pad shoveled, back when we moved in. So far nobody's done a thing, but at least the last good snow melted overnight. Now we expect a melt for Christmas, but only by a degree or so for a couple hours a day. At least there were no problems getting in to park. I have to take the last packages to the post office today, so a good time to check out accessibility for the car, but at least it can be done in full daylight, unlike my job where I leave at 6:30, an hour before visibility starts to hint at its arrival.

The second best part of the day was finding out, after all the years of no winter driving, that all the old driving skills hadn't left me. (Schadenfreude was when the morning news announced there had been well over 700 accidents! ) I had at least raised the question with myself, because in all those same years, a different skill had gone, the one Steve calls my "internal GPS". Now I have to look up places on maps that I used to be able to drive to - and though - without a second thought. I knew the names, the routes, what they looked like. That's gone. It's getting rebuilt slowly, but I keep finding I can't place a street name or a distant town I used to drive through on my way elsewhere. Just to make it more fun, a lot of the streets, especially county roads, have been renamed. They used to be alphabetized, like County Road C or E2. Now they have names.  At least you knew B was south of C was south of D, etc. I presume it involves the county handing the road expenses off to the community it passes through, so somebody else gets to fill potholes, plow, and generally take over all the work and costs of maintaining the road. State Hiway 61 is - locally - County Road 30, so it seems to work both ways.

Who are you and why have you been playing these games?

If somebody did it with a plan to sell GPS units, or at least software upgrades, I'm still not buying one!

Go Ahead: Call Me A Neanderthal!

I bet you think that's an insult, a way to call me ugly, stupid, funny looking, and generally beneath your pristine selves.

I'll wear that name proudly. The joke's on you.

I've learned some things recently. We think Crow Magnon is who we are, who we've always been, and anything else is sub-human, a kind of ape animal. Scientists have been busy going through DNA, going through anthropological discoveries, and in many ways taking a really deep dive into this planet's inhabitants' history.

Lets start with other kinds of humans who walked the earth. So far there have been at least 4 distinct ones in prehistory. We're most familiar with Crow Magnon, whom we identify as, and Neanderthal, whom we ridicule. Yeah, we'll admit our ancestors in the dim past emerged from Africa and spread out across the land. We're the conquerors, the chosen ones, the... well, congratulate yourselves however you like. As far as you know, you're some pure strain, the apex of evolution. Cheer! Celebrate! Have a drink!

Are you done yet?

Way back around 70,000 years ago, humans did leave Africa, spread out... and died off. It happened again, a "bit" later, including the dying off part. And again. Apparently we weren't "all that". But in the examples of remains from those migrations, no scraps of the DNA markers that made us unique are left in modern DNA. Skip forward to about 40,000 ago. Neanderthals inhabited parts of Europe, and we had emerged again, this time into that area. Being human with some traits we still "exercise" as diligently as possible, we intermingled. You know, had carnal knowledge and all that.  We made babies together. Got the picture? 

Before you get all shocked, stop a minute to thank our hormones that those ancestors did, because it was the hybrids, if you will, that actually survived to go on and produce most of us. Somehow the Neanderthals died out and we took over. And once they were rediscovered in caves or whatever, we pegged them as stupid animals because now we were here and they weren't. Except they are. In us. And apparently because they were, we are. We survived when other "pure" strains didn't. The scientists haven't figured out yet just what we got out of the blend that made us hardier, or even if what we got from our blending was "just" cultural knowledge of how to survive the new climate and hunt new animals and collect new foods, and....  But it worked. Taking the population of Britain, as an example, there is about 2-3% Neanderthal in their DNA, if we are talking about those who dwelled there for thousands of years. 

Recent immigrants from around the globe have their own histories of course, and so far there is no confirmation of interbreeding in other parts of the globe with our other early human cousins. I have no idea if anybody's even looking... yet. Of course recent centuries have provided time for more migrations and interbreeding among cultures all over the globe. It remains to be seen whether there was also interbreeding among other human species, or whether the timing even worked to overlap them geographically to provide the opportunities. Hard to breed with somebody dead 30,000 years, right?

But just remember one thing. If it weren't for the Neanderthals, we Crow Magnon would not have survived as a species once we left Africa. We kept failing.  We needed something we got from them to survive, to thrive, and there is proof we shared DNA. So go ahead and call me a Neanderthal. I'll wear it proudly, and gratefully. My ancestors came that way, though exactly when isn't clear. Mitochondrial DNA proves it. When they got to where Neanderthals had lived or did live, they survived, they thrived, they interbred with those there, they moved on, and I'm here to tell the tale.

So You Think You Want Fame?

 Remember those lyrics? "Fame, I'm gonna live forever..." Once the first line is recalled, most of us suddenly get an "ear worm", riding through our heads, never letting us go, or at least not for a bit. They can be pesky critters, at least until they've served a purpose. What do we get from this particular one while we try to figure out how to get rid of it?

A lot of people think they find fame, when what they really get, I will argue, is merely celebrity. It comes, it soon goes, another takes its place. "Influencers" experience celebrity, and find they have followers who copy them instead of finding their own paths. Either they haven't a clue what their own paths are, or just decide the celebrity will rub off on them. Other celebrities find what they have gained is notoriety, being known for something destructive. They also have something fleeting, and it usually winds up not even having any use. Compare them with vultures, the real ones, not a word used to (mis)describe bad behavior. Those birds are cleaners, ridding the environment of rot, of bad smells, of diseases growing in dead flesh which, on passing through theirs, not only become harmless but benefit the earth with fertilizer where something new can grow. Think of the birds as having an asshole with a purpose, rather than simply being a person identifiable as an asshole with a stench. That's if you bother to think of them at all.

There is of course a good fame, one that is useful, productive, heroic, beautiful, something to be emulated. I'm sure a list of people with those kinds of fame just ran through your heads. I think of Beethoven, of Abe Lincoln, of George Washington Carver and Michelangelo right off the bat. They have found ways of living "forever". That's if we take a tiny bit of liberty with the term "forever".  We can go for up to a few centuries of fame, but forever is a hard sell.

We do know people have done wonderful and amazing things in long ago history, and not have a clue of their names. Consider the people who designed pyramids - no, not the Egyptian ones, for they were often named, but how about the Mayan ones? We know people traveled long distances across oceans thousands of years ago, though their names never survived. Rivers have been channeled in different ways, perhaps for irrigation, perhaps for bathing, and nobody knows whose ideas those were. Why Stonehenge? Why Machu Picchu? And who? Fame? After all those centuries? That's nothing like forever.

I have wondered about those who were responsible for cave art, for pictographs. Stories were told, representations of great hunts depicted, remnants of ceremonies or gods and goddesses left behind to endure through the ages to the point where we can see them, marvel at them, and maybe just wonder a little bit at exactly what they were thinking when they made them. Was somebody thinking "my hand print will be here forever"? How about an ancient version of "Kilroy was here"? Or "everybody will know forever how we attacked and slew the monster", or "we fed/saved our tribe during famine", or "we met some gods"? Might it just have been "Lookie what I can do, does this look like a horse?" Or has it been so long, and humans changed so much, that we actually have no clue about the whys of what was done and are misinterpreting everything we see on those rocks? Thousand of years later, here is proof of forerunners, yet they have total anonymity, and not fame. We marvel at the product, not the producers. 

Will this be what we leave behind? Imagine some future residents on this planet digging up remnants of our civilization. Will they recognize them as not natural, or think they are just part of the world as is and always was? We who have been paying attention understand that we face a mass extinction event, soon in geological terms, undetermined in the human scale of time. We are the cause this time around, and are already seeing the signs of what's to come. Every huge era replacing the last has different life forms emerge to replace what was. We will be replaced, and have no way to guess what will survive, though nearly everybody jokes that nothing kills cockroaches. Whatever our replacements are, what will be left of us that they, should intelligence be part of them, would have a way of understanding? 

We will not be remembered. We might be discovered, they way we discover dinosaurs. We are as likely to be thought a plague, as we are a species of builders, or poets, or astronauts. As individuals we won't have existed, just as a species, presuming whatever discovers us has the kind of understanding we have, the curiosity, even some of the traits and practices. There is no knowing, so in short, no fame survives.  We will none of us have a "forever".

But there is a drive in many of us to be remembered, most of us in fact. When we think of the person who wishes to always be a shadow, we immediately assume criminal behavior avoiding punishment, or some terrible secret never to be revealed, usually accompanied by guilt or shame. Part of the reward of raising families is knowing those who outlive us will be around to remember us for a while, and stories passed down through the generations of our deeds keep memories of us alive even longer. Being written about, or the act of writing, are other forms of reaching for either fame or just being remembered for some time after we're no longer here.

I confess. I'd like to be remembered after I'm gone. I won't be a ghost haunting people, I won't be a major criminal, I won't discover the cure for some dread disease, I won't be the richest, the oldest, the smartest, the most "-est" anything. I'll just be consistently me, if any person who continues to live and therefore to continue to change, can be said to be consistent. I'll keep writing as long as I'm able and have something I need to say. It's yours to choose if you need to read it, but I choose what and when I need to write. If you  remember me by my words, you will remember only a part of me. I edit what goes on paper, as some tales are not mine to tell, and some of mine just won't be shared.

I had a conversation online with somebody last week on this topic. They had contacted a well known expert on a particular topic, offering a nugget of fact and an idea of its importance to that person. It was very well received, and the well known expert gave credit for it. The glow of that recognition was still strong when I heard about about it. This was in the middle of a conversation about "what do I leave behind after I'm gone?", the the person I was communicating with very aware of how short a time they had left, with health issues limiting future contributions, presumably. I let them  know how our conversations had impacted me, and in return, heard how my words had impacted them. Now, I neither have, nor will ever, meet this person, for various reasons. Yet we both can still affect others. And one hope of both of us is that during whatever time remains, we each can have an effect on others, that we can add something positive to their lives, and that for at least some while, we will be remembered.

Wait! So What's Going To Kill Us Now? For Christmas?

 The X-mas tree is up. It's a little 4-footer, a fake tree, and sits on a low table in front of the window facing the street. It comes with its own lights, two sets of them alternating. First it's all white, 

 

then red/gree/blue/gold ones flash before it goes back to white, and back and forth. It's really hard to get my camera set for it, but it's for the eyes, anyway. The lights reflect well in the plastic film storm windows, with all the wrinkles in the film bouncing the colors. When we want privacy, we shut the blinds. Inquisitive neighbors can see light changes in the cracks between the blinds.

You may note I haven't mentioned ornaments. We got rid of all our ornaments before we moved. Some went away a few years ago to family members who were raising young kids, presumably needing to spend more funds on diapers than tree ornaments. Coincidentally, we were downsizing. Win-win.

The one thing we didn't leave behind was our combined collection of old bubbler lights. Without a tree any more they had a few interesting holidays, like being taped across the front of a display cabinet one year, or on a rigged up platform another one. We still enjoyed the bubbling. 

One or two may have expired each year, either in storage or just burning out when plugged in. We'd check out replacements, find them some years, not others.Currently we have something between 2 strings and 4 of them, intact, lighting up, and still bubbling well. One or two glow but don't bubble or just bubble every couple minutes, and with their weird positioning in non-tree locations, a couple would tip over and we couldn't tell if they would still bubble or not. They were carefully packed along with the jingle bell wreath to go north with us, and unpacked this morning. Tomorrow they'll be rechecked and put on a tree again.

The wreath has a spot to hang facing the street between two doors so weather doesn't do any damage and it's still visible. Nobody will hear them, but they'll remain beautiful. Two windows over is the one the tree stands behind.

I spent a bit of time online looking for either more strings or loose bulbs. To my vast disappointment this year's version of "bubbling" is a bent over Santa, dropped drawers, farting bubbles... or something. Not exactly to our taste, but from the quantity of them for sale, they must have a lot of fans/customers. There were a very few strings of bubble lights for sale, all used. Many only claimed that 4 of the seven were still working, whether light or bubbling, and the owners were still asking ridiculously high prices for them, plus shipping. I managed to find two strings that were both intact and not exorbitantly priced. Figuring subsequent years would only get worse, I ordered them both.

Several hours later I checked in on my emails. One interesting one came through, but without a sufficient amount of information.  Supposedly I couldn't buy them and I was supposed to contact the seller. "Couldn't" was phrased more like "not allowed to". I knew it wasn't that my card didn't go thorough. It had. But which seller? The two strings of bubblers came from different sellers and the email didn't specify before the email vanished.

Maybe it was both?

I decided maybe Google knew what was going on. Turns out the old ones had methylene chloride inside them. It's a solvent, used for stripping paint, possibly carcinogenic, and toxic. It gave a very dependable bubbling effect when it heated utp. They do something different these days, and still sell them. 

All the predictable things ran through my head that people who grew up the same time I did had going through theirs each time another much used or often done terrible thing had their awfulness revealed for the world to fear. Remember mercury thermometers? We kids used to play with mercury, rolling balls of it across our school desks, dividing and reconnecting them just to watch it happen. Usually we did it in the pencil trough, because if they rolled off the desk they'd splat into dozens of tiny balls on the floor, a devil of a task to pick up! Somebody for sure would come up with a penny and challenge another person to rub the mercury across it until the penny changed to silver, with the claim that then it could be mistaken for a nickel when you were at the store. Boy oh boy, we worked hard trying to make that happen! It never did, so there wasn't any temptation to try to cheat a cashier somewhere. And look at us, we're all fine now. While one drop of mercury today in a school clears the building till the guys in the hazmat suits come scoop it up!

Hey, anybody got a penny for them...?

The logical result of those scares was and is that my generation tends to ignore all the latest revelations about what is terrible about things we'd do all the time without giving it a thought and apparently without coming to any harm. There are exceptions, of course. We'd pile all the kids we could fit in cars before seatbelts came along, Moms held babies in their arms, and if there were even more people they could be piled in the open back of a pickup. Now seatbelts and child car seats are universal. Smoking happens outdoors more than in the house with the kids. Bike helmets are common, and many sports use knee pads and other protections routinely. But not everything has changed.

So you tell one of us that something we've lived with forever could harm us, we look at each other, ask if we used them, find the answer is yes, decided we're still just fine thank you, and shrug it off and keep stringing the lights. Mind you, some bulbs often had dried out over the summer up in the attic or garage or wherever they'd been stored, and got tossed. Nothing left to make bubbles, so why keep them? Nobody remembered a chemical smell. Nobody found them oily. We just took precautions not to cut ourselves on broken glass, watched out for frayed wires like for all light strings, and whittled the strings of bubblers down to whatever was still working before hanging them on the tree.

Am I going to throw out our bubblers? Nope, unless they leak. Or look cracked. Old bulbs that no longer light or bubble will go bye-bye, but working ones will go gently on the tree. Just like in previous years. I'll give them an extra close look first of course. I'll keep in mind we might be looking at more than a possible fire hazard. We have more bulbs than strings to hold them, or maybe it's more strings than bulbs to fill them, but until it comes down to open spaces on the last string, they'll keep going up. These are one last piece of our holiday childhoods.  The grandchildren and great grandchildren can come over and wonder at what used to be on decorated trees back when these old people, somehow still living as ancient as we are, were sill children (as if that were ever possible!), that now are all but lost to history.

Unless of course somebody figures out how to make a non toxic LED version of lights that actually make bubbles one can watch for hours, something that can be tucked away and brought out again each winter for that ever-increasing stack of nostalgia that grows through the years. Each generation will try to share the wonder with the next growing generation, and then the next. Likely each will fear they've failed as the newest / shiniest / fanciest / most exquisite thing is under the wrapping and bows under the tree each year, and not on it where all can see. 

They just have to stop and look.

Not THAT Diabetic

My primary sent me to a podiatrist for a new foot pain, who sent me to clinic for diabetic shoes and orthotics. Medicare pays for proper shoes for diabetic foot care. Feet get numb, resulting often in skin damage, leading to infections, and worst case followed by amputations. Those were quite common for diabetics when I was a kid. I remember a neighbor we got our eggs from who had it and there were concerns about those and blindness. Medicine has since improved.

I got diagnosed as pre-diabetic something like 15 years ago. I never bothered to make an exact note of when, but it was before we moved south. My treatment was to watch my carbs, with lots of information, and sources for more, on how to do that. I'm still doing that... sort of. It's not exactly religiously followed. But my A1C is monitored, and first AM fasting blood sugars taken with finger jabs, about 28 days a month. Stuff happens, like suddenly realizing one has started breakfast without doing that poke. So far I haven't had to go on any kind of medications for it. It's going pretty well. At some recent point my official diagnosis changed from "pre" to just plain diabetic. Far as I can tell, the only change has been additional birthdays.

Maybe I'm doing too well, which I'd never complain about.

Today was the initial consult for orthopedic / diabetic shoes. I got a lesson on how strict Medicare is on what actually qualifies feet for what's about $2,200 worth of footwear. Is my diabetes controlled? Yep. Do I have any skin lesions in my feet? Nope. Any numb spots? Nope.  Testing with my eyes closed verified I felt everything he touched with a little filament, except a spot near one of my replaced knees. Not all the nerves reconnected after those surgeries, even now. It didn't count. I'm just not diabetic enough to qualify for special shoes.

Yet. The expectation is always it will get worse.

We had a discussion on the things that have gone wrong with my feet over the years, what hurts now (which is mostly barefooting on hard surfaces.) What have I done for those issues? I explained about the arch supports, now doubles rather than singles, all the time now except in bed, including in the shower with a pool shoe on one foot with supports inside. I explained how walking on our lumpy yard outside hurts when the lump presses on the one sore spot. Also how hard it has been to find the right kind of supports for my arches recently. And how I had to resort to snowmobile boots for several winters - no snowmobile, just boots - when the first arch damage had been done, resulting in bone spurs in '85, lasting a few years, now an issue long past so long as I wear the arch supports.

With a lecture on things like pronation, for which I should thank my genetics, and metatarsals becoming affected, he explained what's happening and precisely why none of those qualify as a diabetic reason for special shoes and orthotics. He also explained why what he offers wouldn't fix my feet even if I chose to pay the bills myself, and why the orthotics only last a few months and would have to be replaced  annually... at my expense. 

He knows exactly who developed the kind of arch supports I wear, knows they're coming off the market because the plastic is hard to work with, and advised me if I still have a source to go out and stock up on them from, get as many as I can. I also need to go find shoes with lots of room inside (yes, men's wide!) and very thick, firm soles. Unfortunately, while thick soles are "in" right now. "firm" has been bypassed for "soft". So he wished me luck.

Before we parted, he commented on the Olympics this last summer. He takes a professional interest in the footwear used by the runners. Or in previous years, the lack of it. He was greatly encouraged, from his professional viewpoint, by what looks like much better footwear to support feet during competitions. To make his point he mentioned that this last year, even the Kenyans, long noted for running even marathons barefoot, were now wearing shoes.

Cold. And Warmth.

Temperatures have been the stories lately. Both stories ended better than they began. 

I'll start with cold. We moved back north for family. We're getting older, and are well aware that time has its limits. There are grandchildren and great grandchildren, and we'd both like to see more of them, and not be strangers. It doesn't mean we connect like next door neighbors, but we do manage to see them more. We also see our own "kids" more.

The pay for that is winters. That means cold temperatures for bodies which have forgotten how to adjust after twelve years living where it might hit freezing once or twice a year, and maybe we needed to wrap an outside water pipe or run the water every couple hours over one night. Maybe even both. Maybe neither when the drop stopped at 35 degrees. As for us personally, we stayed cozy except for half a minute running a bag of trash out to the garbage can, possibly even without a jacket, and bare footed. OK, I won't be annoyed if you call that "spoiled". We loved it.

Cold was slow in coming this fall to this part of Minnesota. It barely stopped hitting highs in the mid 50s when we got our first snowfall, and that melted away in time for more leaves to fall and squirrels to keep raiding before tucking away in their aerial nests. 

It had to end. Rabbits are leaving footprints in half inch snowfalls now and they show for days because nothing melts. The lakes are starting to freeze over enough to support a little snow and turn white. They're not sturdy enough to support anything else, so there are already rescues happening... or perhaps just recoveries in certain cases. News reports are vague, and we are reminded "they're not dead until they're warm and dead." An occasional open bay in our area reveals that not all the ducks and swans have flown south yet, and I feel as sorry for them as I do for myself. Because when I head to work in the morning, it means starting up the car at 6:30, running it long enough to start to warm up so my muscles are not locked rigid and shaking for the trip. 

It isn't enough heat in those trips to thaw my washer fluid. Turns out I was wrong when I thought I'd fixed it - not enough draining off water to make room for the antifreeze. I'm hoping tomorrow's anticipated 33 for a high will do it. I need to drain more mostly-water from the lines and add more antifreeze to them so they're good for giving me a view when it drops down to or below zero again. It's just a bit too challenging to drive when one can't see, especially two hours before the sun pretends to pop up. Cold cars are new to me because even in the old days, it only took two miles from the driveway to be able to get heat pumping into the car, and driving all day kept it - and me - warm. Now most trips are 5 miles or under. Even the next big town over isn't far enough over to thaw the washer fluid lines, and that's a 24 mile round trip.

I finally changed out a couple things to make my own life better. I switched a ball cap for a knit one, and bare hands for leather gloves, but then when my fingers were still cold, swapped those for ski gloves. OMG wonderful! I've never skied before so never thought to get ski gloves. They're the perfect combination of flexibility and warmth, with the comfort of a soft inside.  Of course, as in so many other choices, I went to the men's department for them. It's where actual quality can be found, like in shoes, heavy hunting socks, or heavy sweatshirts. Fashion be damned!

I do have one really nice thing for winter warmth, a down jacket. I've worn it twice. There are issues, however. The first one is on me: I've been saving it for the really cold days. Nevermind I'm miserable in the cold now. I keep telling myself maybe I'll finally adjust, and I'd better or once it's really cold even the down won't be good enough. 

Silly? Let's not get smug about it, eh?

I found if I try to put the hood up, it's a bit oversized. By "a bit" I mean it comes forward and down to my mouth! I have to wonder whether the really big hairdos are coming back in again, and they are so bouffant they actually raise the hood so one can see where they walk and where cars are coming from, or if the designer actually thought they were a practical idea. Maybe their fame has "gone to their head", so to speak? There are no pull strings so one can tighten it around the face. No snaps to bring it together.  It would be something of a head scratcher but I can't reach it way back under the hood. So, make sure one of the knit caps is in a pocket. And the ski gloves in the other. Where the car keys, phone, and pocket book go after that....

But the other issue is actually getting it on. Yes, the size is fine. Perfect in fact. My shoulders aren't. Both of them hate to do anything involving strength or flexibility above their own height. And dressing in multiple layers counts on the hate list. Even a sweatshirt or fleece top over another knit shirt is a challenge. They tend to first get trapped at the elbow. Maybe you're scratching your head and asking Huh? Wha..? Next time you add a non-slick layer over another, tuck your elbows in to your side and try to proceed. If the second top gets past that point it invariably is twisted at the shoulder and never quite gets up on top of it. Or them, as most of us have two. 

Believe it or not this is turning into a good thing... when Steve is awake. Now we've long since had things worked out where I can help him get stuff up off the floor where his back refuses to allow him to bend for it. It frustrates him and encourages him to feel inadequate when he has to ask for help. I insist it's not necessary, it's just what life is these days, and point out his other reliable good points. Besides, reaching the floor is easy for me. But now I'm the one needing his help in getting dressed for cold weather. I'll start the needed garments and wander out to the family room looking like a trussed headless turkey or whatever - he's much too polite to say - and I can back up to him while he sets everything straight in a minute, or two with really stubborn clothing.Winter has found a way of putting us back on equal footing again. Not that it was necessary, but it's brought us even closer to each other. We "work" as a team. Balance is restored.

Warmth has made some changes in the household as well. You all know Steve's back has just gotten worse as time has passed. Practically everything that can affect a back has taken a toll on his, and things that help for a while quit making a difference down the road. My avid fisherman hadn't dropped a single line last summer, with lakes and rivers all around and rides and invitations regularly on offer. We don't go together in the car unless necessary, not to visit family, see places with great memories where we'd like to make more, almost nothing but doctors' appointments. He decided he needed to adjust his 1-to-10 pain scale recently when way too often 9s were being overwhelmed by 12s.

Along came Black Friday sales, and by 'Friday" I mean all week. But you already know that if you've been awake. Something caught my attention in an ad, so without giving it away yet,  I asked him if he had any idea if heat would help his back pain. After all, he regularly uses a rice sock heated in the microwave for three minutes to drape across his knees when they ache. He thought it might be worth a try. Medication cocktails haven't done much. Neither P.T. nor inactivity have done much. Surgery needs to be repeated but we're waiting on that. So I went ahead and ordered his early X-mas present.

It calls itself a vest, though it has no real front, just a long wide back and two extensions that drape over the shoulders. There also are a couple pair of elastic straps connecting in front to hold it in place while it's plugged in and working. During that time - in 30 minute intervals - you have your choice of heat levels and vibration patterns. For well over a grand more than the standard lift chairs, like he already has, there are lift chairs  which have those extras built in. Of course, if anything wears out the whole thing needs to be replaced - at a price much steeper the next time, because that's always the way. We had given that a thought... and walked away. This thing has a warranty and cost less than $50, including that warranty, shipping and tax.

He tried it right away. There was a bit of figuring what connected where, and how to add one more thing to the power strip so they didn't block each other, of course, since those prongs always emerge from big clunkers instead of small plugs. Once connected, Steve pushed the right buttons, leaned back into gently vibrating heat... and slowly let a big smile envelop his face.

Merry Thanksgiving Christmas!

Why Pot Lucks Are Fun

 Of course there's the obvious point that the host(ess) doesn't have to buy and cook everything. And you never can know in advance how the people will behave- or not - so I'm taking that out of the discussion, even though everybody had a good time for Thanksgiving One this year. FYI Thanksgiving Two is tomorrow, since different people have different schedules and other sets of family to share the holiday with. We took that into account and offered our guests a choice between Thursday and Saturday... and stocked up on 4 turkeys because we're doing a repeat double-down for Christmas. (Thawing two birds at once in the same standard size fridge is... interesting.)

The real fun part is the variety of the food. We provided a roast turkey and stuffing, which in this house means stuffing muffins, making them very handy for pot lucks, whether held here or taken to somebody else's house. Our guests filled the meal in beautifully. There were mashed potatoes and gravy, made in our kitchen by one guest while the turkey cooled enough to carve, rather than being made hours earlier and reheated. There were two salads, one with cranberries and mini marshmallows, another with cabbage and apples and other things. That was a hit as well, especially with Steve, since he's had a problem being able to eat fresh apples for many years, but these were marinated, softening them just enough for him. Everybody brought their own beverages of choice, and we supplied cups and ice.

The really fun part of pot luck food is whatever comes in large quantities, not what manages to fill in all the need for variety. This year it was pies. Between snowy weather, and somebody being "under it", and somebody else having a sudden family emergency to deal with, we wound up with 8 people this time. And five pies! There was an apple pie, a peanut butter silk (OMG YUMMY!) which I'd never heard of, much less tasted until then, and three pumpkin, one of which was heavily spiced just the way I love mine, while the other two were lightly spiced.  Some, like me, had a sliver of more than one variety. I had actually picked up some cinnamon ice cream for the freezer "just in case" nobody brought desert, or people wanted some on top of their pie. Turned out the pies were so good nobody even remembered to get the ice cream out, so that's still there "just in  case" for tomorrow's meal.

Advance info hints on several (varieties of?) cranberries on that menu.

Static Central! O! M! G!

Shortly after we moved in, I ordered some bathroom rugs. After looking at the dull, gray colors available in a couple stores, apparently the pride of the season (finger down the throat, gagging), I went online to find more choices. And boy, did I ever find them! I googled teal, without specifying in my search whether I meant teal blue or teal green. I found both, and in varieties from plain, to old country homey, to swirley/fanciful, to totally spectacular and metallic. I fell in love, and out came the plastic.

Card, that is.

Once they arrived, I found I needed more since the floor was so large. Ones matching what I already liked were soon on their way as well. Every thing was beautiful, for a while.

You have to know already what happened, right? Being a bathroom, dirt of various sorts accumulated. Company will be here soon with the holiday coming. There was no choice. Washing commenced, the biggest rug solo.

It quickly stopped as well. With the first opening of the washer lid when the cycle ended, handfuls of bits of paper were all over the place. Where did they come from? The first rug looked exactly like the next one waiting, except for the dirt being gone and seemingly replaced by paper. 

Seriously: paper?

Where did the paper come from? It isn't on any of the other rugs, those in the bathroom, or those brand new and still in storage. From the amount coating everything, ("everything" being defined as both sides of the washed rug, the bottom and sides of the basket in the washing machine, and the utility room floor because hunks dropped off the rug as it was pulled out) there could have been a solid layer attached to the bottom of the rug. How had nobody noticed? More to the point, why would anybody line a throw rug with slippery paper? Most of he paper was white, but a lot had black flecks on them as well. It looked like they could have been the bottom of the rug, white with tiny black rubber bits in starburst patterns great for gripping the floor, except flipping it over it looked exactly like it had (except for dirt) and the matching but dirty one's bottom as well.

First thing to be done, i.e. not done, was putting the second dirty rug in the machine. Second was spreading the clean one out to air dry. I never put throw rugs in the dryer, since any rubber backing decomposes quickly in the heat, making walking on them precarious. Not a good thing for seniors, much less anybody else. Then a lot of paper pieces were picked off the first rug and tossed in the trash.  It was noted that a lot coated the bottom and sides of the washer basket. Big project for later, and mental note made not to wash anything until it was cleaned.

As in  4 days later. Much other work remained to do in the next few days first.

The wait created new "fun". I started with broom and dustpan to clean the floor... the first time. By the fifth time, all in the tiny utility area, it became painfully obvious how much static was generated in the paper. It clung to broom bristles, then dropped off. It clung to shoe soles... and tracked through the house. It clung to the now dry, clean rug... and refused to drop off! I quickly learned to brush wet fingers across the surfaces to kill the charge so pieces would fall to the floor. Of course in two minutes they dried again and clung to the floor and broom and....

I gave up on perfection after half an hour, declaring things outside the machine "good enough". Much of what landed in the waste basket liner bag actually stayed there. My progress was apparent, until I turned around and looked at my footprints in white flecks, mocking me.

It was time for the machine basket. I hadn't actually looked inside it since the rug first came out. It was much worse than I remembered. There was a thick layer of overlapping pieces on the basket floor, pryable up with fingernails in clumps. A full circuit yielded a couple handfuls. However, more small pieces remained on the basket floor, mostly jammed vertically in any crack available. Even more coated the side of the basket, in bands about a foot long and 2 inches wide. I fetched a brush from the kitchen, hoping it would loosen the clumps. My optimism proved overly ambitious. Again, fingernails were able to pry much of it loose. As before, many small pieces remained nicely stuck to the basket walls.

I made a decision I hope not to regret. I set the controls to the smallest load possible and started the machine. As soon as the water quit running I stopped it, and took a look. There was apparently a thin coat of water across bottom and sides, supporting about half an inch of bubbles.

Bubbles? I hadn't added soap. Where did those come from? Regardless, I grabbed a paper towel roll and wiped up what I could from all the surfaces. I knew I wasn't finished, and started the machine again before going shopping. Steve had put in a grocery order, now due to be picked up.

Once we were back, I checked the washing machine again. There were small clumps of the paper scattered in all the places there had been big deposits. Of course, they were all dried already and stuck to all the places they could possibly be stuck to, given the small amount of water used. More scraping, more damp paper towels, and I finally pronounced the washer good enough. This is the part where I really hope I am right. I hope no bits oozed through cracks and jammed up small moveable (at least formerly) parts of the machine. What stuck in big globs instead of clogging tiny ones the first time around, might not have been restricted the second time.

That's only one of the remaining questions however. Not finding any source of the paper by comparing the washed rug with the unwashed one, but knowing it came from somewhere and one rug was the only thing in that cycle, I need to decide  whether to wash the second rug. Or do I give up on a beautiful matching piece, both in original design and ability to collect dirt, and toss it away?

I have two loads of clothing in my hamper. I think I'll decide after I wash those. Tomorrow.

Extraterrestrials? Seriously?

 "Medium" can be an interesting place to read, even learn stuff... maybe. There was one today that put my back up however. It started by the author saying they worked at NOAA, and extraterrestrials live under the oceans.

Whoa pardner. Got any proof that they're from off-planet?

Let's start with two premises. 

First, we haven't discovered everything there is on this planet yet. However, we think we are the prime species, have the best brains, best technology, etc., etc. So far we've proved we're pretty arrogant as a species. We love to claim we are the most advanced creatures/beings ever to have evolved on this planet. 

Second, we continue to find things on this planet we can't explain... yet. It may be as simple as crop circles, which we've quickly learned can be done very elaborately by a cooperating bunch of high school kids who happen to be able to scrape a bit of radium from old watches as "proof" of space aliens. It may be as complex as the etchings on the Nazca Plain, which nobody has duplicated recently, so "therefore no human ever has." Only recently with lidar are we understanding the complexity of the temples and roads of a previous culture which marked solstices and equinoxes, in conjunction with a huge cultural network of roads for trading, among other things, both south and north of our border. Trees and much willful destruction have long hidden most of it. Technology and height are revealing it.

 Because we haven't ourselves done these things, it's very easy to claim humans never did, since early ones had to have been primitive, right? Gods, space aliens, who knows what people give credit to for what's in front of eyes willing to explore and see?

We can't breathe under water. In our arrogance, we have concluded since we are the only (self-defined) intelligent life here, that nothing intelligent lives under water. We are "the only species" to build things, therefore nothing has been built under water. 

We are learning, some of us, just how intelligent some other species are. They communicate. They build societies, cooperate in hunting and gathering. They use tools. But since we can build machines and tools to kill them, they're obviously not as smart as us. We are still supreme because we say we are. And thus, anything smarter than we are must be one of two things: a God, or a space alien. Despite learning more on a nearly daily basis of how much we do not know about the planet we live on, our arrogance still holds sway over our beliefs. (Some might say that alone proves our lack of intelligence.)

Now, about our oceans: stuff is happening there, stuff we can't exactly explain. Some of it is sets of noises, patterns still unexplained. Once heard and samples sent to other world locations, more are heard, recorded. They act in concert with each other. Ideas arise, but explanations are not yet found. So far it is assumed to be some life form, communicating across the ocean floor with another life form, though seemingly instantaneously. They seem to be very deep on the ocean bottom, so theories even arise as to what possibly might be a food source for something so... odd.

Remember those "tic-tac" shaped UFOs from a year or four back? Pilots had videos, possibly showing sharp right angle turns, dives into the ocean not creating splashes, things previously unobserved, unexplained. (Shhhh, don't tell anybody, you might lose your job when they decided you're unwell. Unfit.) Now our modern technology shows unexplained trails underwater. Of course, radar worked at revealing  previously hidden subs and its secrets were kept... for a while.

We're (they're) not saying it's pick-an-enemy-state's advanced technology doing it. The author says they're claiming space aliens, and have 'reasons" why it can't be us...yet. Or even if it still is way-y-y-y-y beyond our capability, but not any kind of human, they have to claim it's some undiscovered space alien species.

Why? Why can't it be something like a new-to-us intelligent species which also evolved on this planet, hidden from us until recently because hiding is part of their advanced technology too? Note I'm not saying it is, I'm saying they haven't/can't prove that it/they didn't originate here. There are tales and myths of various sea people through the ages. If they were real, couldn't it be possible they figured out how violent and dangerous humans can be and have learned to stay well away from us for their own safety? We were starting to do a pretty good job of covering the oceans as time went on. I'd avoid us!

But we're that invested in our arrogance, believing nothing better than us exists or ever existed on our planet. Has to be from elsewhere then.

Since I don't have that answer, I have come up with another set of questions, starting with a different premise. We know our activities are changing our planet, including our oceans. Global heating is changing currents, temperatures, salinity, nutrient distributions. Sea life evolved in stability for those factors, one reason saltwater aquarium fish are so vulnerable, as tiny water amounts change water quality significantly with small variations in any single factor, often resulting in fatalities. (Freshwater fish always have variability, including each time it rains, and evolved for it.)  Corals are bleaching. Life forms are decreasing, starving, sickening, dying. Plastic pollutes nearly every bit of it. Garbage and chemicals are being dumped there in ever increasing numbers. Our mechanical noises harm certain life forms. 

All these things we know. Now throw in an untested theory about what the new observations mean.

So, if we actually have a technological, intelligent life form in our oceans, now what? Never mind where they might be from right now, let's suppose for a minute they really are there. What's next? Do they rise up to stop us from killing off life on this planet, supposedly them as well? Do they just die along with all the rest of us? Are they just observers, making us the subject of some documentary as an object lesson to others about what not to do to your home planet?

Or are they just waiting for us to finish the job? Are we improving the planet for their needs, empty of life and ready for reseeding the flora and fauna to support their lives once we've proved we're a failed experiment? Or even zookeepers of many of our current species, holding them in stasis for a return and another try? I have read so many sci-fi stories and books, the list of improbable possibilities is very long. If they are there, intelligent and with advanced technology, the biggest question for me is why?

We may be very arrogant a species, but we do not lack for imagination, or at least not all of us.

It just isn't proof, either way.

"Swan Lake"

 That's all the identification I'm giving out. It's not the real name. The docks are pulled out before any ice builds, boats sit on land snugly tarped, so there's nothing else in the water to disturb them. Trumpeter swans, that is. Adult pairs - those are the white ones, although some have brown necks from mucking about the bottom of wherever of whatever lakes they raised their cygnets on last summer for green food  growing off the bottom. The cygnets are still grey, still sticking close to their parents, probably signalling all the other birds that they're not big enough to be paired up yet. It's the wrong time of year anyway.

We have not seen a single Trumpeter on the lake all summer. Too busy, to noisy, too many humans, not to be trusted. Until now.

Migration season is upon them. Just over a week ago there was a single set of parents with two young, gracefully parading just offshore, viewable to anyone who was picking up mail at the mail shed with an open view to the shore almost a block away.

A couple days later they were not to be seen. Not, that is, until turning the corner and looking across this end of the lake to the other end. Some were paddling down at that end. Others had pulled out onto the grassy yards. Steve was along, and together we counted 13.

I've been busy, and not down getting mail or otherwise anywhere with a view again until tonight. A bit before dark I drove down to grab the mail. Steve was expecting another book. Once that and the other mail were on the passenger seat of the car, I made the loop along the lake to my next errand. It wasn't too dark to count 15 trumpeters on our end of the lake, mixed ages, scattered groupings.

Heading across the road's lake loop, I noticed another woman, standing still, looking to where the bigger group had been a few days previously. A quick glance showed a bunch more swans where her gaze was fixed. As I pulled up with her, I rolled my window down. Without even having to ask, she informed me there were twenty on that end of the lake. I informed her of my counted 15 on my end. Thirty five swans on the lake this evening!  We both were thrilled they had paused here, not leaving the area quite yet, and shared our pleasure as being able to witness them, before both of us went our separate ways.

I'm now hoping our Thanksgiving company might get a view of them before they head on their way.

Reminders To Self

I'm officially back.  Nothing has changed except we're bigger laughingstocks in the larger world, or would be if the results weren't likely so dire. I'm banishing politics from here for the season. So far, other life goes on. I've started the two-week prep for my stuffing muffins, to be baked ahead tomorrow for holiday celebrations. We're hosting, here in the new place.

I recently had my annual eye exam. They're finally free to me, including the glasses prescription numbers, thanks to Medicare coverage, some supplemental insurance, and the fact my status has been qualified as diabetic. Not pre-diabetic. The A1C numbers haven't changed, just the medical coverage. I'm still not needing meds to control my blood sugar, just the need to watch my diet, aka count carbs. The more complex the carbs, the better. The fewer, the better. I'm still trying to pretend chocolate doesn't count. It really wouldn't, except they still insist on loading it up with sugar. Yummm.

Reminder: get one new lens in my glasses, not two. One eye still matches the old prescription, and the frames are still fine.

This will be my second thing not previously covered. I get proper shoes too. I'll find out next month just what that means, including orthotics, but I'm happy so long as they support my high arches. Those became a problem for me back in '85, after a work injury resulted in heel spurs on both feet. Those took about 4 years to get rid of, with the "magic" answer including very rigid soles (with good gripping power, so nix to all shoes feminine) and high arch inserts. I currently wear double inserts in "normal" shoes - men's shoes that is.

My sudden recent foot issues were a shock. After twelve years of a lot of walking barefoot in Arizona on the concrete floor of the house, sometimes bare, others with a simple rug on it, and no hint of an issue, suddenly I'm walking on a wooden floor, still bare-footing, for months while unpacking and organizing the new home, and even outside on occasion over grass. One foot suddenly developed a sharp pain in a different location. No longer in the arch or heel, but forward, just behind the toes. It has abruptly stopped me from being barefoot. I have a bit more tolerance for being barefoot on the carpeting than the smooth floors of kitchen and bathrooms. That translates into about ten steps without pain versus two, and rapidly closing in on zero.

While the fixes for both things are not a financial burden, lessons have been learned in both cases. 

For the eye exam, they of course have to dilate the eyes for a good view to the back. Any diabetes changes possibly leading to blindness will show up there. I'd made that appointment for the afternoon, with time built in for my often unpredictable work schedule, since it depends on my client's unpredictable work schedule. By the time the appointment was over, the sun was almost setting. At first I though that was a bonus, especially combined with my drive home being in an easterly direction, and not into the sun I couldn't protect myself from even with the black shades they hand you. But it was an hour's drive, and during that time, everything got black except oncoming headlights, each of which turned into light explosions. The ones behind me weren't any better as they perfectly caught in my mirrors, exactly as they were designed to do.

Reminder to self on this one? Make that appointment a few hours earlier, even if it costs work time!

Let's see how well I remember that in a year for my next eye exam!

As for the feet, my newest reminder to self is already becoming habit. My shoes are now taken off right next to the bed, last step of the day, and left on the floor where I can step right into them. Without socks for those first steps, they slip right on, shoelaces still tied. I'm in a hurry. After all, my first - or now next - part of my waking routine is walking straight into the bathroom, with its smooth hard floor and significantly more than a single step across it for its first use of the day. And last. And... nevermind.

If you wonder about hard shower floors where I have to stand for ten solid minutes, yes, they were also excruciating at first, until I remembered my pool bag in the closet. I have no good place for pool walking here any more, so it was way back in a corner. But inside were a pair of pool shoes, and while flexible, they also had arch supports tucked inside them.  I now wear one during my showers, and if this happens to my other, still-sound foot, I have the second still in the bag, also with arch supports.  The trick now with those shoes is to tilt to drain for a couple days between full showers, but there's a good place for things to drain and dry, no matter who else needs a shower when.

After a needed foot exam, I was sent two doors down the left hall, not counting restrooms, to the orthotic shoes department. I have an appointment for fitting two weeks out. The conversation with the doc leading to that went something like this:

" Does this hurt? How about this? Hmmm, jargon jargon inflammation jargon epsom salts jargon jargon massage jargon I'll write you up a...Oh wait, you're diabetic? You qualify for free shoes! With orthotics! The nurse will point you where to go on your way out."

Somewhere in that first appointment I'd talked about what had been done last time and what worked (my fix) and didn't  (the previous podiatrist's fix).  I was reassured they produced useful shoes these days, measuring/fitting feet differently than back in '85. It was something about putting your feet in a tray and filling it with foam which hardens. Or something. I'm pretty sure they have a way to get it off afterwards. I'm trying to keep an open, optimistic mind. 

I'm definitely keeping my old arch supports. Even if only for in the shower. And for inside winter boots.  (Reminder: go boot shopping, it's winter here!) And maybe for....

The kind of arch supports that I know work had been getting hard to find, what drove me to my regular doctor in the first place for a referral. I've been stretching them out way past their "use by" date or its equivalent. I finally got the brainstorm about a week before that podiatrist's appointment to check the manufacturer's website. They still sell them online. I ordered 6 pairs before they could change their policy. They adhere to the shoe inside, but the glue does wear out. Most days I adjust them while in the process of putting my shoes on. I have given thought to Gorilla - Gluing them in place to see if that's an improvement, but now I get orthotics, so we'll see how they work before getting out the big guns. (Hey, I'm referring to the glue, not my feet!)

Since that appointment we had a diabetic friend and his wife over. In his case he's become insulin dependent. He also wears diabetic shoes, and was delighted to hear Medicare will now pay for them. As a way of encouraging me in turn, he stuck his feet out to show me that different styles of shoes for diabetics were now available. He was wearing sandals over his socks that November day. It had just snowed out. I'm thinking he REALLY needs a free new pair of shoes!

Final note to self: DO NOT go for the sandals!

Hiatus

 I decided to step back for a bit. It's not that my first impulse wasn't writing a long scathing rant, because I've still got the partial rough draft sitting here, multiple pages, untouched, unfinished. It's that there's a lot to work through since the election.

I'd like to ask what happened? How on earth could we do it? But one comment that keeps repeating in discussions about it explains quite a lot. Voters overheard their fellow voters' comments about not even realizing that Biden wasn't on the ballot! How the hell can we be so ignorant?

We did this. We brought in an administration headed by a conman, Putin puppet, narcissistic man-baby  Hitler admirer, FOR THE SECOND TIME !

I wanted to think we didn't deserve this. Now I have to think we do. Unfortunately what's coming will be very painful for the people who voted it in (Surprise!), and with his vengeful nature, even more for those who didn't. It will also hurt everybody else, not just Americans, not just adults. Not even just people. 

I'm stepping away to grieve for a while. I need to organize, to plan, to try to find sense in the world again. I need to ask myself questions, both about surviving what's ahead, but whether I want to, whether I even want our species to, much as I so dearly love some of the newest members of it who have no say is what's coming.

We have been warned, those of us who bothered to listen. To read. There is a playbook out there, literally. It's very long. It's not fantasy. It could have been, had enough of us been playing attention. Yes, I know, busy lives, price of eggs, all those excuses. It just mattered more this time.

But all too soon, very little will. Matter, that is. Too many tipping points being blown past already, with no returning.

I need to go figure out how to deal with it.

Remember: No Flushing Now!

The plumbers were just here for the second time in two weeks. They're very good at what they do.

Now we've had some interestng plumbing problems in our lives. The first I can recall as an adult and responsible for paying the bills is frozen water pipes. Yes, they had heat tapes on them. But no, they decided to stop working when it hit 30 below. and of course it happened right on Thanksgiving Day when we were hosting the dinner. We had to cancel, of course. 

Plumbers are expensive on holidays.

When I was Mayor, the city had some interesting issues. If you think your house plumbing is expensive, try having to replace a full lift pump needed to bring all the city waste up a level or three to dump it into the sewer ponds. Granted it was a city of under a thousand people at the time, as development was just starting to take off at the turn of the century, but some criminally negligent resident had flushed a whole basket of baby clothes, diapers, cans and bottles into the system, slowly enough that each item wound all the way down the path until they all jammed up the lift pump. 

And they wondered why the city had to increase rates! 

For an educational tour I once got to follow one of the public works employees around along the path of the neighborhood sewer line, watching him raise a few manhole covers and see what might have accumulated along the path which needed to be removed. At that time, things were pretty good. A single penny was found and removed, to be washed and spent of course. Other objects from previous inspections were mentioned during the process, including other money and possibly valuable jewelry, on up to larger line blockers. As far as I remember from my terms there, this vandalism was a one-off. Newsletters and other notices blanketed the town of course. Nobody ever confessed. Everybody paid. Those living closest to that part of town with backed up sewage in their basements paid extra.

The newest issue is for the third mobile home I've lived in (though we refer to it as modular) or the fifth for Steve. We've found a few interesting issues, like need for painting, electric work, and similar things my son Paul can do, raising or lowering closet bars for hangers, a replacement carpet (professionally done), and even an indoor plumbing issue. A lot of decorations have been hung, along with an expanding hat rack. As soon as the kits for them arrive, we'll be taping 3M film storm windows across the insides of our many huge, extremely thin and somewhat leaky windows so the furnace can get longer rests. (They're due today.) There's been furniture to assemble or reassemble, depending on how they arrived here. Light bulbs have been replaced, nightlights installed, wifi and cable put in, a better ramp for Steve's scooter in the shed, and secure bracing for the railing on the front stairs. Paul even put in new working doorbells after we told him we didn't actually need them, but the "Big Ben" tolling is actually a comforting sound.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some things. but there was always one thing needing to wait to be checked out, and it had to be done by a specialist: Checking or replacing the heat tapes and insulation under the house for the water lines. We've had our first snowfall, about 5" of very heavy wet stuff that melted the next couple days, including what the park's plow shoved across our parking pads along the streets. I contacted the park's person for the heat tape job, and last night, with a flashlight in pitch dark, another problem was found, needing an immediate fix before he'd head under to deal with heat tapes and insulation.

I understood his hesitation completely!

The sewer pipe was both disconnected at a joint by just a bit, and blocked somewhere after it dipped below ground level. Need I mention there was a "lovely" mess over the ground? We have no idea how long it's been that way. With the house up about 3 feet from the ground, give or take because of the slight slant of the hill down to the lake over its 28 x 66 footprint, we had absolutely no idea what was going on. We got an immediate referral to plumbers who could fix it, who turned out to be the same company who'd just fixed the inside problem. They open up at 6:30. I called at 6:38, and at 1:32 this afternoon the problem was fixed.

This was an old problem, with a bad repair. We know what company because they left their company name down with their repairs, so we could use them again, I suppose.

Ummm, no thanks! No really, you've done enough. Truly!

They'd had to snake out the drain previously, sometime before we bought the place. It had clogged at least once back then, but in order to snake it they had drilled a hole in the pipe (!) across the top where it hangs horizontally under the house floor studs. When it plugged again the water backed up to that hole and sewer water "escaped" all over the ground under the  floor. It was bubbling out the top of the pipe at that spot, spreading lord knows where, and mostly just sitting on the  ground. 

Now just a note here. We watched the entire process when the new home next door was moved in, ground graded repeatedly before the concrete slap was poured,  the two sections connected, the whole thing braced up on the slab by stacks of concrete blocks, utilities added, stairs built, a shed in process, furniture moving in etc. I took dozens of pictures. Apparently all of that from building up the ground to level and pouring the very thick slab is legal standard these days. Our house went in back in 2001, and we have seen no evidence of a slab under it. I won't swear there isn't one, just that we haven't looked for one. In fact, I just learned how to open the sections of skirting (they have clips)  to see underneath. What I did see the night the problem was discovered was a ground cloth of some sort, with puddles sitting on it. Oh yes, along with oodles of pieces of pipes, cords, and who knows what else stored underneath inside the skirting. Usable? Or somebody saving on construction materials disposal costs?

The first thing I heard this morning when I called the plumber was to not use any water until everything was fixed later this afternoon. No showers, no laundry, no washing dishes, and above all, no flushing!!! Good thing I'd already figured the last thing out!  I mean, not so good when I walked back in the bathroom, but good for the plumbers. There was one trip to the nearest gas station.... but the gas tank is now full, and there is now antifreeze in the washer fluid tank. Besides, I bought a lottery ticket that'll be as useless as all the others over the years. I think of them as a cheap entertainment tax, the basis for fantasies of "what if".

We can use water now. The house probably smells better but I can't tell since my nose hasn't improved that much after all.  Or perhaps it's in rebellion. Whatever gasses filtered up inside while the problem was developing we both have become nose blind to, but the timing is great since we're hosting Turkey Day this year. Now I have to contact the Park guy about the pipe heat/insulation job, but I won't blame him if he decides to wait a couple days. 

It's forecast to be in the low 50s for the next week anyway.

Tricks? Or Treats?

How much do you like snow? I guess that makes a difference in whether you find the accumulating snow outside as a treat or a trick, keeping in mind that it was 80 a couple days ago. I was planting the last of the bulbs then, and covering them with a bottle-plus  of granulated coyote pee, "Guaranteed to scare squirrels yada yada yada."

It was colder yesterday and I took a long chill. The coyote pee didn't keep the squirrels out of the newest bulbs either. So it was off to the local hardware store for hardware cloth to spread on the ground, after cutting it in half down its entire length so it would cover both sides of the bush in the middle. After that, it was investigate the shed for pieces of lumber that "might come in handy someday." If yesterday wasn't that someday, I have no idea what was. Of course the lumber wouldn't have held the wire down without some extra weight, so the the day ended with my hauling all the rocks I could physically lift out of the east yard, one or two at a time only, since many were about gallon size and those puppies burn calories! But they covered the boards to add weight, covered the middle to add weight, and so forth. Thus the chill. There were periods of just sitting to recover, where I got the most chilled. 

Note to self: get rid of all of that as soon as the snow/ice melts in spring!

I haven't been back to see if the squirrels have attacked the bulbs anyway. I had to be out for my job at 6:30 this morning and it was raining, enough to make it not worth the extra walking, especially since it would still be dark for an hour and a  half this last week of Daylight Savings Time. Can you see little black holes in black dirt under a black sky in the rain? No, night vision goggles would be cheating!  Anyway, I don't own any.

I had to take my client to the store for some holiday shopping, plus groceries, early this morning. Extra small customer base in the store would be less risky for their health, and I could pick up a few things for the home pantry myself. It was a bit extra entertaining this morning, with a scattering of costumes on parade.

First was a pink fairy, shopping for others, pulling a two-lever wheeled platform around with large baskets to hold somebody's pick-up order. I asked her if she granted wishes, but she assured me she wasn't that kind of a fairy, a moderate disappointment to both of us.

Another notable one was a 4-year-old Super Girl with a double red frilly cape. She was helping Mom shop, going straight to the the stack of baskets, and short as she was, picking the one off the top of the stack, on her super tippy toes, of course. After getting the basket down, she got one handle up easily, but Mom had to help with the second one. I guess even superheroes need sidekicks.

My client had to wait for something to be ready at 8 AM, so we took what we'd paid for out to the car in a much heavier rain than when we arrived, and returned to the store where there were a pair of benches near the entrance. It was cold enough that refrigerated items would be just fine in the car over the wait. While my client went to get her final item, I practiced my story in case anybody asked me what my costume was: I was a customer done with my shopping and waiting for somebody else to finish theirs.  Personally, I think I was dressed the part perfectly! Borrowing the bench temporarily for my costume was genius!

After helping carry bags into my clients house, it was raining even harder than before with warnings of snow on the way, so I headed home. I decided I could leave all of my purchases in the hatch. It made a perfect fridge  for what needed it, and things like peanuts wouldn't be bothered a bit. I needed to get inside, under a blanket, and catch the morning news I'd missed.

      Just starting to accumulate, across the road...
 

                    and in the yard.

I also caught a bit of a nap once I warmed up, and when I opened my eyes just after noon, the first thing I saw was snow. Not the earlier "maybe that was a couple flakes... Nope, just small leaves. How about now? No, but now?" This time it was unmistakable. Steve had asked me to wake him around noon IF it were snowing, since he wanted to see it after all those years of missing it. (Not missing it in the I-want-to-see/play-in-it way, just in the we've-lived-in-the-heat-to-avoid-it-for-a-dozen-years kind of way.

     Maybe this will put the rhubarb patch to bed. 

The snow's been busy making it up to us big time. In 3 hours there are 3 inches of accumulation. Yes, the camera has been out. Yes, it will again, soon. I checked the anticipated low for tonight, and decided a few things had to be brought in from the car after all. Cheese does not freeze well, not if you want it to resemble slices instead of crumbs. I like my pepperjack as slices, thank you. So there was a trip to the car.

 

Our stairs are painted wood, so my steps out were very careful to see if they were slick. Not yet anyway.  The sidewalk hadn't yet frozen, so that part was easy. The hatch door, however, had an inch of snow on it, and refused to stay open. Now I'd already had fun with clunks on the head with it dropping once opened, no snow required since AZ seems to wreak havoc on rubber gaskets (I presume that was the issue) so I lifted it carefully about 4 times before giving up and letting it settle slowly across my shoulders while I searched the bags for the ones needing to come in, then a final lift before I backed out and let it slam down to close. 

Alright, yes, I got my hand out in time this time, as well, OK? There is still enough of a bump to remind me, just in case I got Alzheimer's in the few days post stitches or something. This time the rest of what's inside really can stay, down to and past the expected 25 degrees overnight.

                            More snow accumulating.... 

Tonight around supper time it's supposed to have stopped both raining and snowing. The goblins, witches, and superheroes will head out trick-or-treating with coats and boots, but not at our door. The management asked us all to contribute a bag of candies, which got collected daily, and at least three people signed up to manage a table along the street to hand out goodies and keep the goblins out of the hair of the rest of us. 

 Tomorrow it promises to be 45, likely not enough to keep the squirrels in their nests. I do have fond memories of how tasty their fried legs are. I wonder how much that depends on whether they're harvesting my parents' garden and apple trees many years ago, or if bulbs affect the taste.  Just saying....

 

The Journeys Of Little Bird: A Christmas Tale

 It started when we lived in Georgia, back when my youngest, Paul would have been three. My parents, way up in Minnesota, started it off. 

Instead of mailing presents, which likely would not have been anything three kids actually wanted, they sent money. Twenty dollars for each kid. But it came with rules, both for them and for us parents. None of the kids could spend even a single penny on themselves. Instead they had to go shopping, buying presents for the rest of the family. They were to buy anything they wanted so long as everybody else got something, even as small as a candy cane. If so much as a penny was left, it went to charity. There were bell ringers outside every store, after all. This task required at least two shopping trips per child, because when they shopped for Mom, Dad had to take them, and vice versa. Of course the presents had to be wrapped and opened as a surprise for everybody on Christmas Day.

The rules for the parents were simple, if sometimes hard to follow. They could not make suggestions about any present. Everything had to be the kids' ideas. They were allowed to assist with each kid's budget, letting them know how much was left after each purchase, and helping be sure nobody overspent, while nobody was overlooked.

It was an interesting challenge.

Now this was back in the days when my kids watched Sesame Street. There was Big Bird, of course. The show had also recently introduced Little Bird to the cast of characters. While I cannot for the life of me remember any of the other presents anybody gave anyone else, except remembering somebody did actually get a candy cane, I will always remember unwrapping my gift from my youngest: a Little Bird toy, all yellow and soft. Now I could have laughed at his choice for me, a grown-up, but I knew he'd picked out something he valued highly. He was properly thanked, and Little Bird was put on a shelf where he was very safe and out of mischief's way.

Presents were given at Easter in our family. When my youngest opened his present from me, out popped ... you guessed it ... Little Bird! My son enjoyed it for a while, but at the next family gifting event Little Bird traveled to another family member. Then to another. And another. It became a good-natured family joke, wondering who would unwrap him next.

I'm not sure what finally happened to Little Bird. Probably like most toys it got worn out, ragged, dirty...  and the joke had had its day. Or years if you will. The kids outgrew the toy and the joke was no longer that much fun. Little Bird finally left the house the way old toys usually do, and eventually became forgotten.

Until today, that is. I had to deposit a check from my part time job, and in the process get a twenty changed into a pair of tens for a pair of granddaughters with close upcoming birthdays, one party to celebrate for both. The fun will be the wrapping, since the youngest just loves to have her very own boxes. So the bills will be rolled up inside old pill bottles, with a bit of wrapping paper and a name on each. Together they will go inside a little box inside a larger box inside an even larger box inside a really big box. I checked with their mother and the older one won't care a bit if the younger takes possession of all the boxes after the "real" presents are found. 

I was describing this to the teller who got a kick out of it while finding new-looking tens. Her reaction tripped a long ago memory, about 45 years old now, and I shared that with her as well, since there was no waiting customer line. I think we'll be giving those granddaughters a shopping trip this December... with an old set of rules for how it gets accomplished. Maybe they'll get  some memories almost as much fun as the journeys of Little Bird.

"God Don't Make No Mistakes!"

Ignoring the appalling  grammar of that statement, and the double negative, both often present in those I hear this from, how often have you heard that stated? I never hear anybody argue with that idea. God the All Powerful, God the Creator, the Omniscient, Ever Present, Omnipotent, and definitely a "He". No mistakes. Everything has a purpose, whether or not we mere humans, wicked from birth, can understand it.

Seriously?

I mean really, do you take that seriously? No mistakes... really? 

Mistakes happen in nature all the time. That there are two-headed snakes or calves is well known,  or animals with too many legs, or many other deformed creatures who usually live very short, likely very confused lives.

Ever seen or heard of birth defects? Who's God punishing if he planned those? Is an anencephalic baby to blame for the absence of a brain? How about cleft palates? Perhaps you've heard of conjoined twins, even seen pictures of them through fairly recent history since cameras have been invented. I can assure you they are not the recent  product of AI, since they've been known through history. Until recently we called them Siamese twins despite no evidence they happen more in that part of the globe instead of others. They often earned their living, if they survived, as freaks in sideshows. A lot of "mistakes" did. How about the bearded lady or the person with hair all over their body?  If they weren't mistakes, did God make them for our amusement because we didn't have enough entertainment, or needed a reason to feel better about our own minor imperfections and somebody else to feel superior to?

Less well known are malformed genitalia. Doctors occasionally couldn't identify clearly a baby's gender and assigned one at birth. Some times men have an extra testicle, or people can have multiple sets of nipples. Ears can be malformed. Almost any part of our bodies can. So ask yourselves, if none of those are mistakes, why do so many of us ostracize them, punish them, hate them as evil, especially if they were declared one gender and they grew up knowing themselves to be the other? Ever stop to think that we're the mistakes, with all that hate and fear?

How about evil tyrants, are they mistakes? Was Hitler a mistake? If you believe God makes no mistakes and we just don't understand why he allowed Hitler to live and kill millions and millions of people, what could the purpose possibly have been? It my be popular among certain hateful people to claim the Jews earned it because they killed Jesus. Despite knowing the Romans did it, and despite knowing Jesus was a Jew, if you blame Jews, which one of those six million murdered ones did it? How did they manage to live for 2,000 years afterwards? Why did what you think of as a proper punishment fall on the heads of 6 million of them? And why add the Roman Catholics to it? Or the Romany? Or any other human deemed imperfect, like those with Down's syndrome? 

What could your version of a mistake-free God, creator of everything,  have been thinking?

What kind of a horrible, cruel, fickle, arbitrary creator do you worship?

Weird Ads Online

You see a lot of weird ads in between paragraphs of what's posted that you really wanted to read. They just jump out at you. It might be bright colors, or some improbable description of that you might want to look at. For a while they all seemed to be revealing big secrets about celebrities, because who doesn't want to know the dirt dished on somebody famous?

I mean, other than me, because I just don't care. If I had to support whatever is driving those, they'd go bankrupt. Oh, I did try one or two, but there were problems. What was promised never quite made it before the whole thing ended. An arrow would lead off to... nothing. A link wouldn't. Link, that is. The promised thing never made it in. The story was left hanging. Two or three times of that, and I have no interest in who has or was the most beautiful baby. Somebody married cojoined twins and was ready to dish. I'm not interested, but wish them well, whatever it is.

Then there were the medical ones. One secret food to make you thin/younger/healthy/happy/whatever. Or the one meat to never feed your dog. Why to never eat blueberries for breakfast. Even if my curiosity might be peaked, I have the patience for about three words in answer to the  question they raised. It would be a video, maybe half an hour long. I never lasted that long. They just weren't that good. Twenty minutes trying to prove they had some kind of special research, or education, or knew more than my doctor, or listened to this ancient wise.....  If they were a bit speedier in their presentation I might hear they had been miserable before....

Click! Off. 

Why couldn't they ever just say avoid meat X when you fed your dog, plus a sentence about why? Nope, 45 minutes... or more, I never lasted... to permanent unfulfillment. I love blueberries for breakfast, and if you truly have a reason to discourage something harmful, why not just blurt it out? I will continue to add them to pancake batter or cottage cheese or yogurt, because you are just too damn slow off the mark. Obviously you do not care about my health. My dogs through the years have eaten about everything and none dropped dead.  Heck, they even eat the shit off baby diapers, and if that didn't do it....

There's the one about THE REAL exercise that can keep women of a certain age from having incontinence. They show a woman around 35 - so not the "certain age" they claimed to target- on the floor with her legs straight up but spread in a "V". OK, do you just hold that pose? How long? If not, how do you move in and out of it? If it works, why? I mean, I just might need to know this stuff some day, right?  After 20 minutes of telling me everything doctors have told you is wrong, and all the exercises you've ever done (you have done exercises, right?) are exactly wrong... the phone rings and I find I don't give a shit about any of what they haven't gotten around to selling. If it's a simple exercise, why the hell not just show it for 10 seconds?

There's supposed to be a way to infuriate your doctors by pushing on the side of your face near your ears to stop tinitis. Do you press hard or lightly? Do you tap? Wiggle your finger? Hold it there for two months? Who knows? Who has the patience to find out? If I get tinitis, my fingers will be plugged inside my ears to close out all sounds and whatever you wanted to sell will be too late.

Do I need a financial planner? Hmmm, let me see how big my fortune is.... Nope. I don't.

Then there are a set of recent ones about how to retire comfortably on 7 Million. Dollars, I presume. I'm retired comfortably, aside from the consequences of old age that no millions are going to fix. That's just as well, since I don't have 7 million, nor hopes of acquiring 7 million, and cannot figure out for the life of me why anybody thinks they need 7 million at retirement to be comfortable. Is "comfortably" some new code word the uber wealthy use to convince themselves if they have to downsize to 7 million that they can still manage to survive? And if so, WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? I have a place to live, enough food and entertainment to not want for it, things to keep me busy, friendly people in my life, affordable health insurance to deal with whatever comes along that's fixable. My brain stays busy... though often wondering about silly things like who thinks 7 million is a hardship?