Sick Of Winter Yet? #6

If you're reading these in numerical order, you might be waiting for the story behind why we stopped one blue agave from blooming. This is it.

Agaves, as already noted, have a well-earned reputation for keeping you at a distance, even worse than cacti, except for cholla. If there is one exception, it is the octopus agave. The leaves are smooth, and aside from the very tip of each leaf, don't stab you. They're even easier to deal with if, like me, you take an ordinary garden clippers and trim off the last half inch of each leaf spike. It won't grow back, and even if you bump into it after that, you'll barely get the meerest scratch, and then only if you work hard at it. 

I decided I had to plant one, and placed it at the front corner of the house, close to the wall. It thrived there, since even under the eave, there was no gutter to defer the rare rain, so whatever fell watered it well. It was a beauty.  In a short time it started its own flowering stalk.

 

 

An unfortunate effect of its location was the stalk grew up into the eaves, trying to shoot through them.

This started a week's tug of war with the top of the stalk: pull, check for movement, check for progress, check for house damage. Repeat. Repeat again. Still again. But don't! break! the stalk !

Once freed from under the roof, it thrived, kept growing, and started loading up in tiny flowers.

 In turn, the flowers attracted the local bees, who loaded up on pollen.

Lots and lots of bees,  for several days. That corner of the house was humming!

We had been expecting seed pods. Once the flower petals dropped, baby plants replaced them instead.

The plants grew, filled in, and suddenly we realized we had some work ahead of us! We had plants needing homes! LOTS OF HOMES! My son Rich put an ad for us in a neighborhood online location where one can sell, trade, even give away whatever. We used it previously to divest of a bunch of X-mas tree stuff we no longer wanted, free to a good home, or an organization who'd find it all good homes. In this case, we invited people to pluck off their own plants as wanted, free. We also invited anybody with ambition (and probably a business) to come over and cut the entire stalk and remove all of them. We had several phone calls for more info, some asking for care tips, easily given.

I had already plucked a couple dozen babies off the stalk, setting them on a wide window ledge in plastic 3 ounce cups of water. They quickly grew roots, went into potting soil in peat pots, in turn got  set into thin aluminum baking pans converted for the purpose, where they could go back outside in sun and be evenly watered from the bottom. Some of those I shared with friends for their yards, depending on their own green or brown thumbs. Some I planted in our yard after they were well rooted.

 One day I stepped out front and noticed somebody had come by quietly and taken us at our word that they were welcome to the stalk and contents. I wished them the best of luck in growing them. We'd had fun.

Being busy with the new "octo-babies", the remains of the old plant were ignored for a few weeks. As predicted, stalk and leaves died . We finally made plans to dig the remainder out, asking Rich for the favor of doing the work. Instead he called me out, having news. There was new growth in the bottom! A few fresh green leaves were poking out beneath the dead leaves.  We still had a nice octopus agave, or would very soon, once the dead was removed. Instructions changed, and the new growth thrived, The babies which were planted got ignored during our snowbirding northern vacation, despite promises before we left for regular watering. By the time we sold the house, we had "only" four new healthy ones in the back yard, still a good result for a favorite plant after a minimum of work.

Note the fat plant behind the octopus agave along the house is one of our large blue agaves I showed in the last episode. After photos of where this octopus ended up and knowing what was required to do in order to avoid damage to the house, but the next time with a real stabber of a plant, I hope you'll understand better why we cut that flowering stalk. Besides, I was informed it produced seeds, not plants, and those really are a lot of work!

Sick Of Winter yet? #5

It's time to talk agaves. There were some interesting ones in both our yard and the general neighborhood. Shapes can be spread out or a tight ball of leaves, but agaves are defined by sharply pointed leaf tips. Some  have sharply jagged leaf edges that rip the unwary, others are more well behaved. Colors for leaves mostly are either green, or blue. Flowers appear from a stalk coming up from the plant's center, and can cover a single pole or be on pads that branch out in ascending tiers to the top. Flowering usually marks the death of the plant. With each variety, what you think you know offers exceptions, except for that sharp tip. With all the possible variety, coupled with tolerance for desert conditions, they are a very popular landscaping plant. Other people farm specific ones to produce tequila.

The one I first fell in love with was across the street. It started as a large bunch of pointy green and sharp leaves near their driveway, about 3 feet out in every direction. One day it started sending up a stalk. It grew higher. Then higher. Perhaps ten feet up the stalk started branching, each branch horizontal, growing its own flat pad of blossom buds at the end.

The thing was, every bud was brilliant red!

It was so spectacular, and so rare, we had traffic stopping just to take pictures of it. I actually had to be careful of them when I went across the street to take my own pictures! The effrontery!

As blooming progressed, buds started to open, starting from the bottom branches up to the top by the end of a couple weeks. Red gave way to yellow.

 A careful look to the left side of the blooming stalk may look dusty, but it shows some of the thousands of tiny flying bugs swarming the open petals. I had to enlarge this photo enough that the other side of the picture didn't fit the formatted space and needed to be cropped.

It took about a month for all the excitement to die down. The owners had the whole plant dug out and removed. As far as I could tell, no care was taken to allow seed formation so more of these could be produced. I never saw another like this in the years we were down there.

It is a common flowering form for agaves. Only once did I see one like this that only sent a flowering stalk up about 6 feet.

Note how straight and green the leaves are that this short one springs out of.

Compare that to this one in our yard. Its leaf shape is broader, with totally nasty red curved barbs along the edges and viciously long and sharp  tips on blue leaves. A normally self-respecting person does not get too friendly with this fellow, popular as it is in landscaping for its large size and very blue leaves. Each leaf leaves it's imprint on its neighbor as they grow, separate, and spread out, adding interest to the plants.

When this one decided to send up its stalk, it was very thick and sturdy, and abandoned its blue for a more interesting palette, even as it maintained long sharp defenses. We didn't allow this one to bloom. It turned out it was planted too close to the house and would have run into the roof eaves. Our discovery of what happens then is another story.

Sick Of Winter Yet? #4

 There are a lot of tree varieties in the Arizona desert, whether natives or imports. Probably the most well known is the saguaro, now protected due both to its long slow life cycle, and its unique shape from arms. There are a lot visible in the Phoenix greater metro area. Some were likely "stolen" from surrounding desert before protection (for the most part?), and others permitted for movement when a river was damned to allow the creation of Lake Pleasant. Flooding would have killed all cacti in the area, so people were allowed to go in and remove them for replanting. Back when my parents were snowbirds down there, it was happening, so we drove out to the site to see what was up. Nothing appealed to them for digging up. Now, driving around the metro, many are still visible and healthy in the urban landscape, along with many other cacti varieties.

They bloom in the heat of summer, blossoms emerging from the top, with birds often taking advantage of a less prickly perch from the height. Others can carve out a hole in the side of the main trunk for nesting.The plant then fortifies the area around that incursion, behind the green covering,  making a solid chamber holding the nest secure. Water continues flowing through the green.

 In recent years the increasing heat is taking a toll even on them. Down at the west corner of our block we were surprised by one having toppled overnight. So, no doubt, was the homeowner whose car was trapped in his garage for nearly a month. The saguaros are tremendously heavy, as well as thoroughly spiny, and  it takes a special crew to remove a toppled one. You don't just drive over or around it. I would guess one might look for somebody who values the downed plant and it's unique skeleton ribs who might take it off your hands at less or no cost. Or maybe it's difficult finding the right crew... and price.

A couple years later, on the other end of our block, some new resident "required" different landscaping. They cleared off the site, which required a crew of four to topple this old saguaro. Of course half of the street was blocked for hours. Maybe the arms weren't weird enough to please them. Perhaps they really really "needed"  a low patch of prickly pear on that corner with the fine spines that worm their way into your skin and hang out for days before you can figure out how to shed them. The new look is boring and bland. I don't think I have forgiven these owners for the destruction yet.

Sick Of Winter Yet? #3

 There are a lot of photo files to sort through, over 4,000 currently in my laptop library, more on various thumb drives. Thumbnails need to be sorted for themes, and by the time 50 or so wind up on working desktop space, even once I change the name from a number, it's a jumble. So these will keep coming as time and patience allow.  (Sure, now I warn you!)

This funny faced blossom is not what one usually sees with this plant. It's such a tiny bit of a vine which quickly covers an entire fence and blooms off and on through the year.

This mass of color is what usually catches the eye. The white parts are subtle and need a close up, which then enable you to see the other fertile parts of you are willing to pay attention. This was a gift from the neighbor, rooted on their side of the fence, pruned into submission on ours.

Eventually the bouganvilla goes into full blooming mode and looks like this... before starting over again. I never tired of the colors or the work encouraging them.

There are many less tender plants around Phoenix with interesting colors. One from the front yard which I planted early after we moved in is called the red yucca. The name is a misnomer, as the leaves are not spine tipped, nor red, and is from the asparagus family. No, I wouldn't try eating it.

Most of the year it looks like this, often sporting old seed pods that nobody cleaned off.  Yawwnnnnn.

It sends up tall blossoming stems, often over two dozen flowering stalks a season. Pink buds open into yellow flowers, tiny enough that trying to capture the whole negates all the details.

Each fertilized blossom creates a hard seed pod with enough combined weight to bend the long stems, the way this one leans out over the driveway. Eventually the pods dry, open, and drop a multitude of hard black seeds all over. I never see new plants from those locations, so they must need something from either the processes of weather that the Arizona desert lacks, or traveling through something's digestive system to spread to new locations.

Lots of plants down there there produce hard round pods. This one is a tree, with blossoms better described as beige lace. We were usually north at blooming time, or without a convenient camera, when this bloomed in the neighbor's front yard. This is an unidentified variety of palm tree, about 12 feet tall when this was taken, but I've never seen anything remotely edible looking  emerge from it. They did have a yard maintenance company clean up while they returned to Canada, so they had no clue either. Typical palm tree care involved cutting the tops way back. I only ever saw one blooming or fruiting the year we stayed south for covid. I'm only guessing these were hard, since I'm not that tall.

Sick Of Winter Yet? #2

 Perhaps you're tired of white upon white upon white. Sure, it can be spectacular. But for months on end? Trapping you in a world of blaahhh, waiting for even a glimpse of color. It's especially dull after living where color is always present.

Every sunset seems full of color. This is a typical shot. If you are up and peek out early enough, you can even see gorgeous sunrises, but one of the joys of retirement is sleeping in, if that suits you. It did us.

Inside the back fence, skies take a backseat to a Mexican Bird of Paradise. Properly pruned, it gets bushier and more brilliant every year.

If you wish more variety, a similar but larger plant is a local favorite. It's called a bird of paradise, but isn't. I tried for one of these, above, looked it up, went to garden centers, and found a lot of blank faces. The formerly reliable place insisted what they gave me was  what  asked for, but the blah yellow with sparse petals didn't appeal.

Another common flower, the lantana has variations from yellow through pink through lavender, often on the same plant. This is a neighbor's. We removed one when we moved in, due to location and thorns, but later discovered a volunteer in a more out-of-the-way spot and started tending it.

Trees can be spectacular too. This is one of the first of those I planted, after noting the back hard had 3 citrus trees removed before we even saw the place. It was a bank repo, and they chose not to water thirsty plants.  This is a desert willow, and while needing water its first year, it shoots down deep roots and thrives with minimal attention. It also provides great shade in a few years. Note the abundance of buds waiting their turn to bloom, then picture covering the whole tree with these clumps.

If you like purple, this tree gives a show in the spring. I never did manage to name it, which probably means it's an import, like many other landscaping plants. It seems to be something one person plants, the next sees it a few years later and puts their own in, and three more repeat that in a few more years. Then you can go miles without seeing one. The bloom is brief, and mostly after the snowbirds head north. It's worth finding a parking spot to shoot.

The logistics of that are simple, spelled $$$. Most snowbirds have their primary residence in a northern state, and deal with homeowners rates on their property tax. They have to spend the majority of their time up north in order to get a discount. w\Wherever they live in the south, they either rent, or own something much less expensive.  this means they miss half the year in the Phoenix area, and probably have never seen a thermometer registering 123 degrees F. On the other hand, we sold the northern house, bought something less expensive in the south for our primary residence, and spent 9 months there for our property tax discount. Summers in Minnesota were a great time to see the grand kids while they were out of school. Also, of course, a great time not to air condition the AZ house.

Sick Of Winter Yet? #1

 I don't know about the rest of you. Perhaps you love to ski or skate or go ice fishing. Maybe you just hate the heat. I mean, I can get that. This thermometer was accurate when we were in Sun City, and I was impressed enough to immortalize it, right before heading back into the air conditioning!.

But after all, we did spend our winters down there to get out of the cold. And we've had more than enough snow and ice and cold this winter to bring on a bout of nostalgia for those good old days. This was one of the best!

                                

We went down as a committed couple. Covid came along, we reexamined our priorities, and held an official, legal wedding, covid-safe, in our carport, social distancing and all for the 5 people there. This is the "after" shot, both of us holding a Maricopa County wedding license, shot by one of our witnesses and a best friend, Joan Kroll. Our anniversary comes up in a few days.

The spots of orange behind us is a plant called Orange Bells. When we moved in, one of our projects was to remove the water -thirsty plant in that desert yard, and replace them with more heat and drought tolerant ones.

This is a close up shot of a branch.

We weren't the only ones who appreciated the blooms. Hummers were all over the place, so long as a steady supply of food was available.

This little one was a bit too optimistic. The cage it hovered over did have a plant in it, but no blossoms yet.

In contrast, the Phoenix Botanical Gardens had a year-round supply of food for them.

 

Conquering The Irrepressible Itch

Ever had one of those? It could have any cause - a bug bite, an allergy, a rubbing irritation. Or, like me, you might combine any/all of these with a skin condition known as dermatographic uticaria. I heard that translated once as  'skin writing", where one could raise a lasting red pattern on the skin by simply gently scratching it!  Short version - everything that can make your skin pay attention will find it reacting as if to repel an invader, with a combination of red, rising, and itchy surface patches. Yep, that was/is me.

There are meds for that, though they were just coming on the market back then, prescription only and pricey, back when I first was "blessed" with it.  My first month's supply was $81. Some allergy meds hint at fighting it. Others are better tailored specifically for it. Those which fight respiratory issues "are not the droids you are looking for."

My first tactic, once I could afford insurance years ago, was to see an allergist, identify everything I react to, and get shots. As for the identification process, a patch was affixed to my back, with a grid where each square held a different common allergen. Once removed a few days later, the Doc can identify what one reacted to and start treatment, coupled with imparting knowledge of what to avoid. In my case my back was so solidly red they had to hold up a grid to figure out what I wasn't allergic to. The adhesive turned out to be one of the culprits. Lots of shots followed, coupled with one of those new drugs.

Mostly they work... pretty much. With the doc's recommendation, I still take twice the daily dose of my allergy pills. Fortunately the price is way down now, and they are widely available OTC. I'm told there are better ones out, but... $$$.

Now try adding a "sling" you have to stay encased in for weeks. Six lonnnnng weeks. And "sling" is so-o-o-o not a cloth triangle slung around your neck and holding the forearm loosely. Start with a bulky padded box,  hard plastic straps encasing your fully dressed torso from multiple angles, with buckles mostly out of reach and beyond your strength, at least initially, tons of rigid velcro obviously made for strength, not softness or comfort. It is designed as a prison while your joint heals.

 Really good job on that "prison " part, folks. Kudos. Mission accomplished.

One needs assistance with almost everything. Allegedly you MAY remove it for "hygiene". Of course it has to go back on, so maybe reconsider that first sling removal part unless you have memorized the reverse process. This means somebody else deals with your clothing, your bathroom duties, cleaning after your bathroom duties,  and your clothing again. Whatever in your life requiring two hands now gets one, plus whatever another person can assist with... on their schedule. This last in no way is a comment on their willingness to assist, but an understanding that their schedule for waking, sleeping, time involved in standing and walking with a walker, etc., does not often accommodate a requirement for "Right Now!" The heart is willing, the flesh is older than my own. Even when help is quick, many times the body's demands don't wait at all. Oops. Just a warning. Prepare ahead if you can.

Don't be embarrassed now. Remember even astronauts and our current President wear diapers. Just a thought.

Then, just for grins and giggles, there's the factor of multiple layers of clothing. Shedding pants, the most frequent ones needing moving, is one thing more easily done, providing one has the right kind of clothing and sufficient need, with both layers at the same time. Replacing them can be done simultaneously or individually. Elastic and stretchy fabrics are pretty much a must. But occasionally, even in the best of circumstances, they do not come to rest in identical locations, resulting in an uneven pull against a moving body part, like a thigh top, as one changes from sitting to standing to walking. ITCH! Let's add the obvious complication of lumpy body shapes to deal with. It's mostly a good thing , because how else do pants stay up, (unless one uses suspenders, which also happen to require multiple hands). I adapt to doing it automatically. I know where all the lumps are. I make adjustments.  Less familiar hands are still learning, so the process is a tad less perfect. Again, fabric binds, irritation grows, and ITCH!!!

Some of the issues are simply the wrong wardrobe to start with. I'm not allowed to lift one arm. It has to go into a sleeve or two anyway, staying vertically down during the process. The official clothing recommendation is have everything for your torso join in the front middle so each arm goes in independently. Of course they tell you that just before surgery. Perhaps your life is arranged well enough that you can just head out shopping, find the exact things you need, and prepare them for use, like by actually checking how they work, and laundering. My life hasn't been that accommodating recently. Browsing my closets and drawers turned up three such garments, all for cold weather wear. Two were hoodie sweatshirts with center zippers. Imagine those metal teeth plastered to your skin and grinding in with every movement. No? Not your ideal? All else in the wardrobe is essentially a tube with openings. 

Exceptions which have front openings are coats, now ruled out - surprise! - due to the requirements of keeping the extremely bulky, never intended to fit inside any sleeve, sling. Do you have a coat sleeve which can accommodate your bent arm in a fat padded box with straps heading out from it in all directions?  Me neither.  Maybe a cape...? Don't have one of those either of course.

Start from the skin and go out. First, forget you ever heard of a bra. It's just too many complications in too flimsy a package, and at my age nothing provides support there anymore anyway. That ship fell off the dock and sailed away over another ocean. So, back to the skin layer, the only accommodation in my wardrobe is a selection of smooth knit summer tops with wide necks and almost no sleeve, donned by putting the surgery arm in first and then maneuvering the top up over yourself - with help - so one head and a second arm go into the appropriate holes.  (You do have just one head and a single remaining arm, right? Not trying to be insensitive here, but I can't help you with ideas if that's not the case.) 

Then of course, adjustments are made, some never considered. In fabric selection, a couple factors become important. First, said tops were not made to be worn for a long time inside another garment. They're for summer, for god's sake!  Mine are loose, not snug. Every little wrinkle, trapped under a "sling" for hours on into days, depending on how many shirts fitting the bill well that you have to switch off,  and what shape you are actually in when first home from the hospital, becomes an itch to swear at, loudly and long. Second, summer clothing just isn't warm. (Duh!) You need more layers to maintain body heat, or possibly a humongous bank account to accommodate really heating up your Minnesota winter home. My budget says no, so this might mean your solution is one of those zipper hoodies like I happen to have, added between layers. (Did you ever select cool weather clothing for softness and lack of skin irritation? If not, good luck. Me neither.) It might be a double polar fleece blanket you try to drag with you around the house without tripping over it, or snagging it on furniture when you come to a stop and try to cover up, but folds keep it in lumps anyway, leaving you to spend hours while minus that second arm trying to arrange it for best effect. Or all of that and more. My surefire plan for next time, if there is a next time, is to ONLY DO IT IN THE SUMMER!!!

I know you're laughing at all this now. You find this all minor. I can hear you! I'll forgive you for now, but just you wait till you find yourself in a similar situation for whatever reason. Listen then for me snickering back. I do recognize the absurdity. But you are forgetting all the movements under that contraption called a sling are resulting in dozens of reasons and locations for unsolvable itching! A stab here, another there, a wiggle won't ease it for more than a half second and you're back like a pig against the farm fence, rubbing, scraping, trying not to make new holes, praying that you can somehow ease the itch for more than a third of a second. (I'll imagine you oinking! I promise!)

What? Lotion, you say?  Go back to page 19 in your post surgery care booklet if you can still find it in the stacks of handouts, where lotion is strictly forbidden. Recall your instructions from your occupational therapist in the hospital who stressed the same thing. The skin surface needs to be kept clean and dry for proper healing, especially to avoid infection, their worst case scenario post joint replacement. 

I wonder if those people ever had an itch? Do they even understand having one?

I finally got fed up with most of this. I've seen the surgeon and healing is coming along well. I've been to the physical therapist who has some teenie weenie exercises I can/should do now and warnings against others. My son and husband have worked to get the "sling" on and off and back on so both are now experts in its workings. I've strengthened fingers so they can work the buckles loose and know which ones are needed in which positions to remove it. I'VE MANAGED TO TAKE MY VERY OWN SOLO GLORIOUS SHOWER! Even a one-handed shampoo. Yep, it took about 4 times as long, but I didn't have to wake up anybody to do it.

And I did not put the sling back on! Ahhhhhh...!

It isn't on now, though I have compromised by wearing it at night when I have no control over arm movements, and am holding my arm mostly in the needed position during the day, never in the forbidden one. 

It turns out I have the perfectly placed pockets for tucking the hand in comfortably in a very cozy polar fleece vest I bought decades ago on a trip to Alaska. I treasure it and thus rarely wear it. The not wearing part just ended. It will show wear when this ends, the end of this month, but be well worth it.

Most of the chronic widespread itches are gone with the removal of the sling. But life is seldom perfect. There is one small, nagging issue. Overnight something pinched and rubbed under the sling AND ITCHES! Because of course! I have dug out the lotion, as that is nowhere near the surgery site. So far I've applied it twice this morning. It helps only until I stop. Again, because of course.

Later in the day I'll tend to laundry and hope some almost microscopic something will get flushed out of the fabric, and not replaced overnight from the sling again.  See how optimistic I am?  Considering how strong and brittle the velcro is, I suspect a single piece broke off and found a new home, hopefully in fabric, not me. I have heard, when I stretch a bit or turn in a torso twist, the loud sound of it sliding across whatever surface it was currently sticking to. I make sure then that it's fastened reasonably- in my definition - close to where it should be, and tuck it back down. Things do get weird that way, but hey, welcome to my world!

Three and a half more weeks.........  Officially.

Differences In Networks: Who Bought Whom? And What Cost?

I tend to check around different news programs available in our cable package, far as we are from the Metro, aka St. Paul/Minneapolis. Sometimes it's just for differences in weather forecasts, or just in forecasters. Sometimes it's accuracy, sometimes in how it is explained.  KARE 11 (NBC) tops out there most of the time in our home. Since we can record, we  can easily compare.

News on TV is more emphatically different lately, especially with the invasion of ICE into the state, more particularly Minneapolis. There is a huge difference in local versus national coverage. Much of that is quantity, as expected for any local story. I can't fault an hour of national coverage spending less time on local stories. A whole lot of stories are local somewhere else and deserve their time. But where quantity suffers, details lose out.

I can and do condemn the slant often  given. Let's hop back several months to the cancellation of Stephen Colbert on late night TV, despite his high ratings, effective this coming June. He has a very liberal slant. One might note that there's such a lot of material to ridicule in anything Trump does. Never considered bright, except perhaps by sycophants, and to the advantage of fellow grifters, all of which can be easily seen to have both much to gain plus much to hide, Trump is the perpetual easy target. When money people saw gain in a TV merger, the skids were greased for retribution.

Coverage on the news changed at the same time, gaining a much more favorable slant to the right wing. If that became selective in how a story was told, which facts were stressed or ignored, it was subtle at first unless one was actively looking for it. In fairness, CBS local news by then had been pretty well but not totally ignored in this house shortly after the differences were noted. But we do still watch their national morning news, since we still like Gayle King, and the trumpet opening, having both played the instrument more or less (me less, him much much more) but only until the first weather break around 15 minutes in. The celebrity 'news" holds no appeal.

Subtlety has vanished. I see truth doing likewise. Three recent local stories make my point. Take the murder of Renee Goode. I say murder because I've seen multiple video views of it, and one official interpretation claims the shooter was driven over while no video shot comes anywhere near to showing that. The shooter was up and mobile the whole time, easily avoiding a bump by Goode's slowly rolling car. The official story from Noem maintains that story of grievous injury, while other information offers that he did go through that... much earlier in a different incident, had recovered, and was now back on the job while having PTSD... untreated. In fact the local coverage still shows Renee stopping to talk with ICE to figure out where they did need her to go, letting them know, cheerfully, that she wasn't angry with them. We know how that story ends, including witness reports that when her car crashed after she was shot multiple times, those hoping to give official medical assistance were prevented from doing so for several minutes.

We may never know if they might have helped save her life. I personally think it is unlikely after three shots, but I'm no expert and the BCA has had all evidence removed from them by the feds.  The story version out of DC is still being pushed, despite what we have all watched repeatedly.

Alex Petti's murder has been covered the same way. Video shows him, an ICU nurse at the Veterans Hospital, trying to reach and help a woman protester who'd been shoved to the ground and pepper sprayed. It also clearly shows the legal pistol behind him which he never reached for, and which was removed from the scene before ICE shot him multiple times, killing him. But he was the aggressor?  You selling a bridge too, with that crap?

The same kinds of news coverage, the same patterns with  immediate blaming the victim repeated over and over, federal CYA to absurdity on other networks we pop in on, bystanders with video showing different stories showing up mostly in local, NBC coverage. Even at their best, NBC is still big on both-siderism. It does beat toeing the federal line at least.

Don't ignore all the mass demonstrations, remarkably peaceful in all locations, despite often subzero cold, getting the federal interpretation of rioting. Never mind candlelight vigils, singing, neighbors opening businesses to help others afraid to leave homes, employees afraid to come to work, especially with ICE out racially profiling, citizens or no.  You were born here, perhaps thousands of years of history here, maybe even had ancestors greeting the Mayflower, or taming early wild horses abandoned by the Spanish, but suddenly need to carry papers proving you belong?  Are you getting any of the stories of community unity? We do.

Then there is an ICE incident which just returned to news coverage with a happier ending - if in fact an ending - still with two different stories, the federal one and what ordinary witnesses saw. Remember that adorable 5-yer-old who was whisked away to a Texas prison along with his father? Maybe you'd recognize the little blue and white knit bunny hat he wore. Perhaps the expression on his face got you. At the order of a judge both son and father were returned to Minnesota where they may continue their case for asylum already proceeding along legal lines since well before ICE worked to maintain their quota without regard for law or facts. "Involuntary travel" disrupted that process, until then going smoothly.

They of course painted the father in the most reprehensible of terms, claiming he ran away from his son, abandoned just to avoid ICE. It could be understandable if true, a parent trying to keep his kid out of harm's way from the goon squad, especially after two widely shown murders. But both father and witnesses say the father had scooped up his son and was running toward their home to warn the rest of the family to lock the doors and not let anybody in. In that he was successful, but now was unwilling to be separated from his son in whatever hell came next. After all, everybody who's paid attention knows about Trump's family separation plan which still leaves 1,360  kids (by best possible count) separated from their parents, no names recorded on intake, many not verbal at the time to remember their given names. How old were you before you knew a name other than a version of Mommy? Daddy? Or when you were still called a version of Baby, Junior, Darling, Sweetie? He wasn't taking that chance with his son.

Now they have been flown back together, the "lost" blue bunny hat replaced in kindness by a stranger with a brand new one, and a judge's orders to ICE to leave the family alone. Imagine the fears that family has to face while recovering from this ordeal. Oh, and don't forget the Texas prison building that housed the two just announced an outbreak of measles as they left! After all, why would any Texas prison run by ICE take any care for the health of its inmates when they barely bother to even feed them? (The food on the airplane was reported to be their most food in the previous week.) I just hope the family took advantage earlier of Minnesota's immunization policies! But how many families will be too afraid now to get needed immunizations?

Where do you get your news? When it comes to being told over and over that what you just watched isn't what happened, and nobody was putting on a 'magic" show you had to pay to watch, who are you going to trust? And who will you trust next time? Where is the money going? Who is getting what favors and what is their actual price... for them? 

For us?

On Domestic Violence: How Bad Did It Get?

There was an event in St. Paul today to remember the victims of domestic violence. Obviously, since I'm here writing this, mine didn't get that bad. Violence can take many forms, and not all end life, sometimes just the desire for it. Since I haven't written those stories, and mostly never tell them, you don't know how close it got... and didn't. If you were around and very observant, you might have had questions, and perhaps told yourself that of course you were being silly. If you were the next one to marry him, I hope you learned early "enough" what to believe or not about his lies. I never heard about a third.

The first time I unwittingly almost did it for him. We'd been having one of those arguments about what I cooked for his dinner. I happen to have picked a recipe he'd liked a week earlier, and he was very hard to please.  It turned out - without warning since his rules were mostly silent until I violated one - a week was way too short a time. We were doing dishes, one of the rare times it wasn't just me, but he needed to continue haranguing me about supper. Well, what did he want? No answer of course. I suggested he step out while I did dishes and he'd have time to cool off. He declined. How about if I step out?  Denied.

The one thing I was allowed to leave his arena for was to go to the bathroom. I did, what turned out to be 7 times, a mark of how long that lasted. What he didn't understand was that was my only escape, in more ways than one. As a result of migraines, my bottle of valium was in there, and each time, since the last pill hadn't made him ignorable yet, I took another one. By the time I returned the 7th time in perhaps a half hour, , I must have been noticeably floating, or slurring, or something.

I wound up in the local hospital, "diagnosed" as a suicide attempt, getting my stomach pumped.  All I wanted was a way to shut him up. It never occurred to me that the pills might have serious consequences! I still doubt they believed me, since whenever I was awake the next 24 hours I was getting harangued by nuns offering to pray with/for me or find me counseling. In return I just asked if they could find a way to shut him up? Apparently somebody talked to him and he agreed that next time "I got him angry", he'd go walk or something. At any rate, we went home together, and some of the verbal abuse ended, 

I will confess to working  on talking him down when his "solution" to "my making him so mad" the next several times was to get in the car and drive into a bridge abutment at high speed. It worked.

Several years later we had our three kids, which I can pinpoint from- again- the kitchen we were in. I have no recall what the issue was, but he was very angry and backing me into a corner of the counter. I reached behind me, locating the butcher block knife holder. He was still advancing on me, and imagining no alternative, held the first knife in my hand out in front of me. Note that the handle was braced against the bottom of my rib cage for support, and the point was aimed straight at him with over a foot to spare. I wouldn't lunge. He had the choice of advancing or stopping. He stopped. Whatever his fight was about, it suddenly wasn't that important. He had a choice.  He backed off and the knife went back in the block. 

I overheard him later claiming me as aggressor.  It didn't seem important by then what he said.  He was proud of using words as weapons, and convinced me I had no options other than him. I was left with just hoping (silently) he'd just die. I have no idea if he noticed I quit arguing when he offered his bridge abutment solution.

We lasted 13 years. I have no excuse except hopelessness for an alternative. He did marry again, and I heard later that while he adopted her kids, they took the brunt of his abuse, lies, and whatever else he dished out. Wife #2 was much stronger than I. I hope those kids got what they needed to heal. 

I eventually did manage to, taking longer than the abuse had lasted, finally trusting the kindest, sweetest, best friend for years to become my #2. I'm lucky in many ways!

As for #1, we do know there was nobody willing to pay for his burial when he died a few years back.

Is It Really Worth The Frustration/Tantrums?

As a start, at least I don't stink any more. Not that I can prove I stunk, but it's a reasonable assumption. I know I used to after this long sans shower, and experience informs me that I also stunk this long without clean laundry. My nose did use to work. The bottles on the shelves come with assurances they make me smell better after using them and my nose used to agree. I'm going with that for now.

I finally gave up on avoiding taking the sling off. It wasn't the stink I can't smell for the reason, exactly, but you're welcome anyway. It  wasn't the spots on the clothes because who cares anyway when we're all cooped up in the house out of view. It wasn't even the inconvenience in getting to/from the bathroom facilities within a usable time frame, or even not being able to reach the bidet again for six weeks, though that did feel good to be resumed however briefly. It wasn't even saving all that TP, though the budget appreciates that too. The real final straw was the itching. All of the itching! (Steve has been exceptionally patent with grouchy me, bless him.)

Not getting to scratch my head during a shampoo that wasn't happening is part of it. Not rubbing my back across the chair back with the thinnest layer of fabric between the two was part of it, because a scratch isn't a scratch when it's a mere hint of a puff of a remembrance of a motion. It shouldn't be a nail-digging scratch either, but the pent up need was making that pretty tempting. It started on the shoulder blades, that pent up need, then immediately the shoulders from the big bandage all gluey across its path, wrinkled and crinkled up from needing to hold skin in place that needed to be matched up with other skin that had been separated by a scalpel and now had been ordered to close securely keeping all microbes out, no touching allowed, and no large movements allowed either.

 Something might shift, something might separate, something might ooze a bit of blood, and eventually something major might have to be repeated with worse results the second time. The warnings were oft repeated and thoroughly stressed... before the drugs went in that made the brain all cloudy and clumsy and insecure... and downright ANNOYED!  Remember, there was no real pain.  Itch doesn't qualify as pain, don't you know. Just ask anybody who hasn't been tormentd by itch and tormented and tormented and.....

I take reallllly good meds for pain. I still have 5 days' worth left. So I'm not in any pain. 

I just frigging ITCH!

First the gooey sticky patch came off. Stitches were cut  - the two which held the bandage patch in place in case it tried to shift locations from deep freeze Minnesota to the sunny Caribbean or something. Who could blame it? I haven't felt like I could take a single safe step outside since days before the surgery, snow and ice all over the place. With the contraption in place preventing one arm from moving an inch in any direction, motion of all sorts is limited to the other far reaches of the opposite arm.  

Some day, just for the fun of it, reach one arm across either in front of behind yourself and see what you can manage to scratch. Pick up a little "whatever something" and try to angle it so you can scratch yourself wherever. Limited to that one hand, how fast and far can you pull down your pants? Easy, you say? Did you try with the inner snug layer that doesn't leave any seam lines showing? The outer layer that helps you look slim and trim? Both together or separately? Mind you, we're not talking when you have 15 minutes to figure it out and you're really patient because it doesn't really matter, but when something is urgent and reminding you louder and louder that you need to accomplish it in 4... 3... oops, too slow! OK, so next time you go for looser pants, and work on pulling up/down the side on the good arm, then try the opposite side which just has to stick on the bulge in your hip, or rump, or both...  My golly, when did that bulge get that big and the house so warm your sweat got sticky, and....?

You cheated with the other arm, didn't you! No I wasn't watching, I promise. I just know things.

Now you find a grabber stick you have somewhere in the house because you thought ahead and... no, it doesn't bend, and if you have to pull hard the cloth you're hoping to move slips off, and days later when the shorter grabber you ordered arrives in the mail you discover its literal shortcomings too.... So next you resort to having that 2nd person help you because they're always loving to assist in the bathroom even when they threw up over newborn baby diapers which you no longer smell as sweet as. Or you figure out that if you start really early they can pull pants down on the far hip and you can hold them up on the good arm's hip while you skedaddle through the house and in front of the windows with the open curtains to the bathroom and... OK, you can wipe that up later. Oops, that too, if you don't forget and manage to step in it on your way out. (So how many clean dry socks do you still have left in that drawer? No, they do not have to match! Honest! Trust me! Besides the last dirty one can get another use as a mop, right? Who is going to see the botom isn't white once you put a shoe over it?)

You have realized that the return trip will have to be repeated with you hanging onto only one side of your pants, past those same windows, with your.... hanging out and ....

How long before it begins to dawn on you that you are going to live in the same clothes for days? Maybe over a week even. At home excuses are made for why "the doctor" doesn't want you to have company just quite yet, and yes, you do know and appreciate that they care, and their _________ gift is thoughtful but.......

But that still doesn't fix the itching. The very second the instructions allow you to take the minimalest  shower, it's time to gather whoever can help disconnect those fasteners in all the buckles and belts and velcro and ease you out of that harness. Your intentions are the absolute best, but...

Hey, does antbody on the planet know why somebody velcroed a red rubber ball inside one of those straps and what happens if you toss it out? I mean, if you do decide to toss it, we all know you are going to balme the dog you no longer own for chewing the ball up, but does any of it really matter?

Once you are the most careful it's possible to be in not moving the arm away from the body while still putting on/taking off clothing just like what you just ditched except for accumulated dirt and stink, you start working on how exactly did that other person in the hospital who does this 4 times a day in half a minute each put your sling harness on you? You watched her put it on. You made notes as to which went where and in which order. You made sure pictures were taken to remind you, because of course this black strap is different from that black strap with an identical buckle on it,  neither of which your encumbered hands can possibly repeat correctly nor do at all by themselves... because it takes your arm too far from your body, of course.

After 5 minutes you admit this was the real reason you delayed that shower, despite the itching and everything, for as many days as you have. Maybe later in the day, once you calm down again, assuring yourself that you didn't really break the thing this time - hopefully - despite all that velcro tearing noise -  and after you fixed late lunch to sooth your emotional state yet again, you can give it another try. Or even after supper when your son comes over to shovel again, he can figure it out because he took the pictures and saw it done correctly and is still young enough and has the spatial skills to get you back into some kind of rig that has the least little prayer of preventing you from screwing up your arm between now and when your next visit to the surgeon is scheduled. Only three more days now?

Fingers crossed! At least you can still do that with them, right? Maybe even slip another pain pill into your lunch as well, since you've been wiggling that unleashed arm for a while now. Just a light-duty OTC pill this time. You'd have to get authorization for the really good ones to refill, after all. You've gotten a little proud of getting by with fewer than allowed, even though it was really the nerve block letting you get away with that. But shhhhh...  it's fortitude, right?

Except for itches, of course.

Incompetence On A New Level

 I am growing to hate being effectively one-armed. On the other hand (weirdly inappropriate expression here) I am growing to appreciate my lack of a functioning nose.

The brace my right arm is encased in, whether you call it a sling or a contraption or simply a trap, has not been removed or opened once yet. The hand works just fine. It can handle anything from the wrist out. It will notice any "heavy" weight, such as a full coffee cup, and despite the rest of the arm being supported, the shoulder will register discomfort. I won't call it pain, just a warning. It is capable, just limited. So, in the case of coffee, the mug gets set down as soon  as possible, until the left hand can take over. A second trip? No problem, the legs are fine, thanks. When the liquid level gets low, I have to negotiate with my body to rearrange me in a space where the head can tilt back far enough to drain the cup. That means repeat that contortion several times, since the must-tilt level happens way before the remaining liquid can be managed in a single swallow. I have enough irritations without adding either choking or wearing half my coffee on my clothes. If this seems extreme to you, bear in mind the left shoulder is in nearly as bad shape as the replaced one was. I just did the worst one first.

I can fix my own meals, mostly.  There are lots of frozen boxes in the house, mostly low calorie, low fat. Good for portion control. Also lots of low fat no sugar Greek yogurt. To either can be added flavorings, fruits or veggies from appropriate bags in the freezer. There are large stocks of nuts, crackers, puddings, mac-n-cheeze microwave singles, and foil bags of shelf-stable tuna, dried fruits, chunky soups in cans with pull tops. And so forth. Supper tonight is thawing, a ring of frozen shrimp around a tiny tub of cocktail sauce. Soon as it thaws it goes in the fridge. Steve can pull the tough plastic tray parts apart, or that rare stubborn pull top thst won't, but all the rest I can handle.

I'm allowed to take the brace off "for hygeine". That's their delicate way of not talking about figuring out how to use the toilet. It soon will expand to bathing/showering. Yeah, no, I haven't done that latter bit yet. The doc who discharged me said I didn't have to, just after he warned me to keep the shoulder bandage dry. No way that can happen in our shower, plus the hanger for the shower head is already way too high. I do have a supply of baby wet-wipes and never flush them despite package claims. They were cause for our first plumbing bill in this place, and we'd never even had one in the place back then.

But you just can't avoid the toilet. Oh, sure you can, but who's going to clean the house afterwards? Steve who needs a walker to get around? Who can sweep the hard kitchen floor with a long-handled dust pan but can't bend over for the crumbs in the carpet needing individual attention... well, you get the idea. Plus whatever winds up on the floor needing a good scrub I have to go after since I still have the flexibility and balance for it. Yes, I still credit belly dancing for that, all these years later.

The real issue here is getting pants down - in time, starting from that first warning of need - and on both sides of you plus low enough in back when it tends to hang up on all the bulgy parts on the way down, and then once cleaned up afterwards, meaning either without the assistance of the bidet with controls way back behind you on the trapped side, or you can have company while you expel everything you can, who can then turn the tiny knob as directed and WHEN directed so you both don't get a cold shower as well as winding up with a slippery floor. (Do I need to describe how dangerous that could be in these circumstances?)

Let's just assume for the moment that all the above has been successful and up to standards. You are ready to stand WHILE pulling pants up with one hand.  Yes, the grab bar is there but then you have to go back down again anyway for the pants.You will have already learned that getting one side of the pants up does not mean the other side is successfully up. I will not equate optimism in being able to release that hand to grab another part of the waistband and have the first part remain where you left it in defiance of gravity is to be in any way equated with intelligence. It shall forever be merely an indication of optimism!

It may also be an indication of wearing the wrong pants. (Surely you weren't trying this in a skirt, were you? WERE YOU? OMG!) I am rotating three pairs of pants through: use, launder, use. All are or were knit pants. Baggy ones.Two are shorts from before I lost a bunch of weight. The good part is they came with sturdy drawstrings, now permanently knotted so as to not pull out.The elastic is just tight enough that they don't drop. The third is a baggy pair of sweatpants. All are PJs these days, all designated 24-hour acceptable in the house.  Obviously I'm not stepping outside, due in part to sub-zero cold, ice on everything, inability to get into a coat... aka winter. Inside they are accompanied by a lovely, snuggly, double polar fleece throw/blanket. Warm socks too of course.

Back to the topic. Two of these pants when worn singly can in fact be forced both on and off by me with one hand.  It took practice. Before I worked it out, Steve was the other puller, giving us 3 hands for duty. Asleep or awake, he was called into service. We got, with help of family, some short grab sticks. They are not as helpful as we wished for clothing. (Other things, great!)  I could spend time adjusting and working to make them more useful with pants on my "wrong" side. In fact I will have to, since I'll be out of the house 3 times next week, three different doctors' visits. Because what I will have to do next week means I'm back to being dependent in the bathroom unless I learn a new trick.

It will be my need for a second layer. It might even require a third layer, combining discretion and warmth as new needs when out and about in public. It will have elastic and extra padding. I can have an accident at home and simply switch to clean pants, but even at home, inserting even regular undies means I need assistance. Especially in redressing. Everything gets hung up on a second layer of fabric, even if it didn't get stuck on a bulge, however large or small one thinks it may be these days. And yes, they are smaller, but that only means it is lower, not gone. Something getting pulled up gets stuck under the bulge, not merely at the  bulge. It's just another "perk" of losing weight in one's 70s. Skin doesn't care about shrinking any more. (Want more surgery, anybody?  A little tuck here, a nip and tuck there, here a nip, there a tuck, everywhere a nip tuck ....Wait! What am I singing for?)

So we worked out that whenever I'm wearing 2 layers of pants, I'll head to wherever Steve is, even in bed asleep, and he will do the pulling down, handing me the fistful for my good side. A whole lot of NSFW will be flashing any neighbors who are playing Peeping Tom at that moment. Since we keep the blinds angled to make that near impossible, we keep them disappointed. Something else will be devised for when we have visitors. Obviously the whole system works in reverse afterwards. The three rotating pants are at the exact size to combine with the exact twisting wiggle that persistence winds up with them all sitting in place over my hip bones. Steve can keep sleeping. Add one... .HELP!!!

It works for the two of us and our privacy needs - or happy lack thereof. I suppose if we graduate to a lengthy family/company visit, I'll just have him head into the bathroom with me. But out in public? Or when Paul is driving?

As The Nerve Block Passes

Last post I'd noted gradual return of sensation , motion, and identification  of my right arm, slowly starting from fingers ascending to the shoulder, with little to no pain.  As advised I did take a precautionary Oxy tablet. They do not want us to experience a huge cascade of pain.  They say it tends to hit in the middle of the night.

I appreciate that.

I went to bed, aka my recliner to keep me from rolling around, to settle in for the night. Or so I thought. 

A while later I felt a thin line of pain along the outside edge of my hand. Then up the outside of the forearm, then climb the upper arm to the shoulder.  The process took about two minutes. It almost felt like the blocking medication were draining out against gravity, flowing up hill, with pain filling in from behind, also upwards. 

It wasn't severe, though sharp, enough for me to get back up and go take another Oxy pill, as allowed, just a few hours past the earlier one. It actually killed the fine line of pain quickly enough for me to wonder if I hadn't over reacted. Would that last pain have gone away on it's own?

At any rate, I slept well enough, and have gone easy on the Oxy since, sticking to the tylenol 500s until something stronger says it's needed. So far, so good. Some pain, yes. Not a big challenge... yet.

A New Painkiller With Brain Boggling Side Effects

I’ve been out of touch for shoulder replacement surgery - and some weird side effects. At this point, 3rd day, there has been no pain, despite the somewhat fearsome reputation of the surgery. None whatsoever  beyond a needle prick that immediately was followed by numbness, unless you count setting up the IV which preceded it, but that was just normal, as far as my many experiences go.…

There was a lot of paperwork to sign, the usual permissions required for many procedures in a non-emergency basis. I got another one to sign, preceded by a fairly detailed explanation. This goes down through the top of the shoulder to be replaced by metal and plastic. It is a nerve block, or rather a 3-nerve block. So far that is fairly standard, though in no way replacing deep anesthesia requiring lots of monitoring including ventilation. They warn you there might be a sore throat after that. I had none, though I do have a memory of first awareness of waking, being moved by four people all telling me I needed to breathe and pronouncing it good when I apparently resumed on my own, but that was several hours later.

The IV port supplied fentanyl before the block started, not that I could tell it even went in. I was distracted by the rest of it. A large screen - to me anyway - ultrasound was on one side of my bed with one nurse managing controls to give the field covered the right depth. It was adjusted 3 times until the doctor anesthesiologist pronounced it perfect. My view was lots of slightly wiggly white lines going across the screen. These were in part my nerves. I felt a pin prick - actually a long needle  - and saw it as a brighter white line sliding down the middle of one of them, which was when I decided a different view was in order. I figured I’d seen enough to satisfy curiosity.There were to be three of those (brachial?) nerves to be treated, but since I wasn’t feeling a thing, I had enough of that experience. If I kept watching I might feel it happening? Imagine it, perhaps. Not necessary.

We discussed ahead of time what was being used, and I got the actual name later: liposomal bupivacaine. Think novocaine that works immediately and lasts 4 days, ideally, as a complete nerve block. It’s fairly new, and I had to sign my permission for them to use it.  The alternative standard only lasts a bit after the surgery does. No question there for me. The worst of the procedure pain should be over before the block ends. A worst case is the block lasts a lot longer.

The side effect started a few minutes later. I believe asomatognosia about covers it. I tried describing it to my medical team, not having the jargon, and came up with body dysphoria, to mixed reviews.

I had been covered over by one of those delightful Bair Huggers which kept me cozily warm, giving me no view of my body nor need of one. I quickly lost movement in my fingers on that side, totally expected, aside from being able to curl them, no lifting any finger. The rest of my arm had no movement, no lifting the hand. I tried. The thing was, as it slowly dawned on me, that I couldn’t see the movement  I actually could make under my covering. The arm was bent at the elbow and had been draped across my chest. I looked for it, feeling with the other hand, and it simply wasn’t there where I knew it was. My chest hadn’t been numbed and it knew exactly where my arm rested, except….

Somebody came into test for how the block was working, and lifted my arm into view… straight out down along my side and just between the mattress and the bed rails, safely tucked where moving my bed down the hall wouldn’t snag it. When they put it back down, my fingers now identified what they had been feeling as the binding on the mattress, while my chest and brain insisted it was “again” draped across my chest!

Every conscious awareness for the rest of that day and into the next insisted that was my arm’s location! It never was. Post surgery, with my bed now raised at the head, I could see it wasn’t there but body and brain continued to disagree. I kept trying to put things into that hand… that wasn’t there! Once I did have a chance to touch the numbed hand with the normal one, it was a useless series of misses and failures to register by the numbed one, none of which dissuaded my brain from trying.

Before I even woke up the entire arm was encased firmly in what the staff referred to as a sling. I call it a contraption, composed of rigid padding, belts and buckles, not allowing any movement whatever.

The fingers stayed curlable. Next day I started being able to uncurl them on  purpose, later move my wrist. Third day my hand was back, all the way past the elbow with feeling of itself and motion to the limits of the contraption, still with no pain whatsoever.

I got sent home with a selection of good pain meds and others for when I need them. Maybe tomorrow. No point wasting any.

It’s good to know where my arm is again.  For a while it was puzzling, frustrating, annoying, and ultimately hilarious!  I’ll trade all of it again for avoiding the notorious pain, at least for a few days. The slow progress back to feeling and motion is encouraging.

 Now I get to spend the next six weeks learning how to live with effectively one hand. Putting food from a box into the microwave isn’t hard, but for some reason I need Steve to push the numbers.  I must have used the other hand for that, though I’m puzzled why I can’t switch. The wrong arm has to reach for the phone now, from the shoulder that isn’t fixed. It’s an uncomfortable stretch.  My laptop won’t sit on my lap these days so it’s over on a table and the chair height is weird. Can you pull your pants on/off without using both hands? In time? This first draft had a typo about every third letter because my fingers operate the keyboard from muscle memory, but now it’s hunt and peck, wincingly wondering what on earth I was trying to say in that spot and why this line got inserted way over there in the middle of that word?

I have lots of help at home when I need it. Some skills are improving - I did think out lots of potential issues ahead of time  and work on solutions… with both hands of course. I had no idea of a not-hand, just an immobilized one.

Odd things are happening, no direct relation to the surgery, exactly. My pacemaker clinic called. They can’t prove my battery still has a charge, though it might be a false result. It was a known possibility going in. So I have an appointment to go in for a check, though no opening for two weeks. But if I feel faint meanwhile, call 911 for an ambo to the local hospital with a call out to Boston Scientific for a technician to race me there, relevant phone numbers on the calendar.

I feel fine, all things considering.

The second weird event I think was a scam. “Sara” called, informing me I was behind in keeping up with my medical testing, and it could make a difference in what my insurance would cover.

Are you shitting me? All the medical stuffI’ve been through the last  5 months, everything one needs before this surgery? I tried to interrupt “Sara” to ask this impossibly cheerful voice just exactly what tests “she” thought I needed but the voice wouldn’t slow to answer a question.  I got a bit rude, loudly repeating “Whoa!” about a dozen times without a breath, which changed her schpeil long enough to get her to change tack. The voice, which I now decided was likely AI, came back with “I see you have a lot on your plate, would you like me to call back later ?”
How irrelevant can you get? just answer a simple question! Obviously a badly programmed AI. I returned with, “No, I’m all caught up on my medical stuff, GOOD BYE!!!”
 

Surprise Charge On My Bill

I like to shop online. I started back years ago when my knees got so bad I hated walking enough to buy groceries or go to yard sales or whatever. I used to judge shopping locations by their battery shopping scooter carts as first priority. The knees are fine now but the online habit stayed. I'm considering changing it.

 The online grocery ordering started for us in Arizona with a grocery store that was an early one to offer it for seniors (then others) to avoid the risks of catching / sharing covid. They had first opened at 6:00 AM for seniors only, 7 for anybody, but later switched back to normal hours, letting everybody who wished order online and drive to reserved parking spaces to have our order brought out. And yes, of course, the ice cream was kept in a freezer until we got there! Even in what they call winter when we were only a mile away. It worked well, until they adopted QR codes and we seniors didn't. They quickly decided to accommodate us and put their phone number back on the delivery parking spaces' signs so we could claim our food!

Once we came back north, we checked with Walmart. They had a pretty good system and we've been using it for nearly all our shopping. Lots of items weren't food, since we didn't move everything we owned/needed/wanted to keep moving costs down, and we quickly learned to take note of what we could pick up along with our groceries, and what had to be delivered, free with a certain level of purchase, usually in 2 days. Or at least for a while. Then Trump started threatening tariffs, something different with every utterance, and the system got a bit gummed up. Walmart never noted on their order sites whether a company they contracted with was domestic or local. Two days often stretched to 6, or simply an email notice that it would take longer.

It seemed fairly innocuous. At first, anyway. Then things stopped showing up completely. I tried patience. It didn't work, unless their plan was to hope we might forgot we ordered something weeks ago and forgot about it. I learned long ago to keep those emails saying what I ordered, when, and its supposed arrival date. Many even had tracking numbers. Eventually I called Walmart's customer support and was rewarded with a snippy retort that Walmart had nothing to do with those orders and were offering no refunds (despite having them on their website... still!) Somebody still owes me a battery clock, an indoor wall thermometer, and a pair of small rugs shaped to fit in front of the toilet.) I needed the rugs and  clock, and since have walked into a store and purchased something similar in person. I decided I didn't really absolutely have to know how cold a room in the house was, I'd just keep a throw blanket in it, as does Steve, so no indoor thermometer was bought. I just needed to get over it... except my resentment at being cheated. I did look at one of those emails about a month ago, checked the tracking number, and found a "failure to deliver" note ... from California! Good thing I like the replacement battery clock better than what I ordered. But still....

None of what was "late" ever did show up. I've made a note to check the Walmart site EVERY TIME for whether what I wanted was in the store at the moment and able to be picked up, or not. In the latter case I ordered something else instead, or nothing. I have Steve doing the same thing, and he hasn't actually lost any money... that way. He recently had to replace a mouse pad, and ordered the only one of the several listed online that was actually in the store. It's solid black, not cutely decorated, but we got it with the groceries even though the young man wheeling out our order looked puzzled at why this foreign thing was in with food and was ready to throw it aside as trash. Good thing I was standing back behind the car with him when he did that! Sometimes we have to train them, you know, like keeping eggs or bread separate from anything heavy instead of under it, or frozen things together but away from just refrigerated, especially when something frozen has to travel half an hour home on a warm day and just happens to be ice cream . For us particularly we also teach not putting multiple gallons of milk in a single bag.  We don't even get paid for our training services!

After the year of our being trained to buy what's currently domestic, I've come to depend on the hints that some things might not come... ever. I just discovered other sites from other companies don't do us the favor of dropping hints. That just became relevant.

Part of my prep for upcoming surgery is locating the rare piece of clothing in my wardrobe which has sleeves in it, but doesn't have to be pulled over head and raised arms together. In other words, it should have front buttons or a zipper or something similar. I have not bought anything like that for well over a decade, unless it was considered outerwear like my winter coats. Every top is stretchy in various degrees and pulls over my head. It's the reason Steve has to help me dress in the mornings with my bad shoulders. Some things are old and loose - especially the second day of wear - enough for me to fight with by myself, or at least on my better days. But two days from now I'm under orders to pretty much keep my one arm just hanging straight down for a few weeks or more, and to be held there in a sling which is only to be removed for hygienic purposes. (I guess they want me to use my antiperspirant every day, eh? And take the occasional shower at least so I can check for bleeding and/or infection. Steve's going to love assisting me with shower duty! )

I finally found something to wear during that time... sort of. I do have a couple old zipper-front hoodie sweatshirts. It kind of defeats the purpose knowing I'm going to have to wear something sleeveless under that or have zipper scratches down my middle for weeks, but there we have it. Steve dug out one of his button front long sleeve "flannel" shirts, but even my hand finds that fabric sratchy. Do they make wool flannel? I've wandered through a couple clothing departments but pull-over everything seems to be the mandate of the year. Lucky my summer wardrobe does have a few unscratchy items in it, which I know from actually wearing them, and old ratty but soft cotton tee-shirts do graduate around here into the pajama-top drawer. 

 However, I'm still thinking about not raising my arm for some time. I was the perfect target for a shirt ad online. They were men's shirts, but soft and button front. Unlike most men's shirts they came in colors I like, like teal or purple.  A little pricey, but worth one try. I ordered one. It won't be in time for checking out of the hospital, but should be delivered soon after. Prompt delivery adds a few bucks but OK just this once.

I got confirmation via email, and all the details fit what I ordered. I got several more emails suggesting I could order more right now and each additional would be cheaper because of quantity. Delete. Delete. Delete. The original order confirmation email I'm keeping, even having taken a photo of it in case.

This morning I checked into my bank account, a frequent habit to be sure the card is not being misused, or my math isn't off and there's an upcoming minus balance or something. This is one of those months where social security arrives later than usual, and certain bills have to be held extra days, not a problem since I plan for it. 

The balance was lower than expected!

I went through the details and the shirt order had an extra charge on it. It was also the first indication anywhere that it was arriving from Hong Kong! Their business name was not the single word from their ad online, but now had added "Hong Kong"into their business name. The fee was labeled "International Fee US Funds".  Not tariff or anything resembling that word. The order was all in English, sizes not claimed to have some nationality attached to them like some places who give, say, US and UK sizes in different columns. That's information good to know before one picks their size, of course. But it's also a tip off that the garment is sold and/or made internationally. Just like a three week out arrival date is a hint, either of that or overburdened shipping staff. Or in another case years ago I could pay in either American currency at price "X" or Australian at price "Y". That was an interesting way of comparing how currency exchange values varied over time, or differed from Canadian ones, since I bought from them for months. I paid in US currency of course.

All that aside, this was a deliberate withholding of final price at the time of sale, or of even the possibility of a change. Everything else had been listed in the ad, including options for shipping. So far, since the charge is less than a dollar, I'm merely annoyed. I'll be waiting to see what else may not be as stated. Size? Color? Softness? Will it have been manufactured, like another clothing company recently lost my business after switching, on machines that leaves tails of thread to unravel instead of ending in a lock stitch? 

That other company, incidentally,  keeps sending me catalogues on a frequent basis. At least their paper is reyclable, as that's where those go now. Our postal center has a recycle bin before you head out the door to drop crap in without reading. It fills regularly. I help.