That Time Of Year

OK, not Halloween specifically, though it's also a time when a lot of people come around with their hands out and some container to fill. But I'm specifically talking about the mail, both physical and email. 

"Hi, we're so-and so, we do good things (or so we try to convince you), and we'd love to have you give us some money."  I could bore you with a very long list of supplicants. 

Some I've gifted in previous years, and if things were more stable right now, would love to do so again. Others I've never heard of, can't judge from the begging proffered, and am left totally unmoved by, independent of what's happening in the country. 

Oh sure, if I won a large lottery prize, somewhere on the top of my list would be huge donations to food shelves to help those suddenly with no incomes and no SNAP benefits. I have my own memories of being food assistance dependent while raising kids. But it doesn't matter how much I promise to the winds blowing past about my good intentions. I rarely win as much as my dollar back.  I seldom invest that dollar in the next lottery ticket.

I just hope some of you reading this have better situations, more hope for your futures, and can help pick up the slack that our government has created.

Late Fall Journey To Crex

 Last weekend was peak colors here at home, but it was also busy - too busy to spend half a day up north. Plus I was waiting to go with a friend, and our schedules just weren't meshing. Yesterday was the day, finally scheduled... until she had a health issue and had to cancel at the last minute. I decided to go anyway. I need to every once in a while. Whether it's a good shooting day or not, wildlife abundant or scarce, it's a good place to be, out in nature, taking all the photos you can just because you can, especially now that they're digital, and see what you can get for your permanent memory box. Even if the fall colors are disappearing, the sandhills are collecting, getting ready to head south in the thousands, around three weeks or so from now.

Since I had just recently "discovered" Fish Lake late in the summer, I decided to start there. The best view is from the boat launch, looking east over the lake and catching sky reflections however you can. Early in the afternoon, clouds hadn't dispersed yet, so lots of white in the view south.

The north view had side-lit clouds, catching and reflecting back some of the reds from the many oaks below. They almost looked lavender.

Once I'd shot all I wanted there, I headed into Grantsburg and through to the visitor center. Because restrooms, of course, but also there was a trail out the back door which has a bridge over a bit of moving water that produces some colors I'd been waiting for fall to shoot. In high summer much of the water was covered by leaves from water plants. Not much reflecting happening.

If you note the blur on the far side of the far side of the water, it became more interesting without the rest of the background. A current rippled through it, formerly hidden under the leaves.

It just goes to prove - repeatedly - that some of the best shots are the happy accidents.
 

I'd barely started my tour. There was a whole lot of color everywhere. Mostly the birches, which are very abundant with all the designed waterways, had dropped their golden leaves and were now collections of white branches. but a variety of evergreens lived up to their names, and oaks  still held their colors as late as possible.

Near the many lakes there were still pictures demanding to be shot.

With little wind the grasses along the roadside showed clearly, even if it took multiple shots to convince the camera to put everything in focus.

Pockets of islands near the shore still retained enough warmth to retain color, even if flowers had disappeared from the lily pads. Many branches formerly hidden suddenly showed their true forms.

By this time I had been gifted with my first sighting (of two) of a bald eagle. Of course it flew right over the car and across the lake so quickly there was no time for the camera, either time. But it (or possibly they) were not the only birds still hanging out in the area. There was a family of trumpeters swans which obligingly swam close to the road, allowing for some shots.

These were not the only swans in the area, but the others were either just white dots on the far side of the lakes, or so close to the banks any shot was impossible for all the grasses they tucked themselves under while foraging. In the case of trumpeters, the only swans I've had the opportunity for long observations of, they feed by basically turning upside down, feet up, and scarfing weeds off the lake bottoms. Over the years I've caught shots of them with long strings of vegetation dangling from their beaks down into the water. It never seemed to bother them.

As it came closer to suppertime, it was also time to work on locating a viewpoint for watching the flocks of sandhill cranes fly in. You hear them first, that primeval call from these living dinosaurs. The spot I picked was where two other early cars had pulled over. It's always to be assumed that the first ones stopped might have a good reason for their choice, as in there was something special to see there, and not just it was their supper time. I didn't crowd them, but stayed back and rolled down the window. Yes, off in the distance I could hear a few cranes, squabbling over a spot they'd flown into earlier to claim for themselves. The squabbling would continue till the last of the thousands had arrived for the night after a day foraging in surrounding fields. I watched a couple small flocks fly over, before noticing movement along the edge of a narrow waterway. 

Heads bobbed, disappeared, popped up a few feet away. These were the likely reason the other two cars had stopped. As they gradually moved out of sight upstream along the bank, I counted fifteen. I probably missed some, being distracted by trying to video landing flocks. A hour later it would likely have been nonstop flyovers and landings, but I didn't want to stay out that late this evening. I did, however, catch one shot of a flock flying over the last cranes along the stream bank.

The six airborne ones are easy to spot. So is left one on the bank, but the other one is just to its right, and partly behind a moving clump of dead leaves in my foreground, blurring it a bit. It doesn't help that it's not as white as the one it follows. It's the only shot of both grounded and flying cranes that presented itself in the half hour I sat there.

I decided to head out, having gotten everything it was possible to shoot while I was still there, plus being able to listen to the cranes as they called. I just didn't realize I wasn't quite done shooting. Do you remember that swan family?

They were now up on the road, stubbornly doing their own thing, which included a combination of posing and crossing the road and back again, stopping traffic, because of course. There's a bend in the road there so I shot through the windshield. The grey car's driver slowly stepped out and set up his tripod off his car's back bumper, so I imagine my car is in his shots as his is in mine. It was that or don't bother to shoot. I was third on the scene and nobody moved for the full ten minutes I was there. A fourth car rolled up behind me and we slowly eased around the swans who still took very little notice of us, so somebody else got a turn.

Not all cars are as thoughtful of photographers when they drive around Crex. Many just zoom past creating clouds of dust. By the time it settles the creature you wanted is long gone, and all that remains is resentment of somebody else's rudeness.

As I was exiting the way I entered (which you might have guessed from the same swan family) I saw three sandhill cranes land on the road up ahead. It was a ways, but I took a shot over the steering wheel, knowing if it was good I could seriously crop it. Then I slowly rolled foreward, took another, and carefully repeated the act. They did notice me, but each time they paid attention, nothing was moving. They went back to scouring the roadside for something. Sand for their crops? A bug catching the last bit of warmth before the sun set?

I heard it before I saw the car. Its driver paid no attention to why I might be stopped or what was ahead on the road, just plowed through as fast as was safe on the gravel. Of course they scattered. People were more considerate elsewhere, and there was plenty of "elsewhere" in the 30,000 acres of Crex. I'll be back, though I don't know if it will be before next spring or not. My last winter shot from years past was a deer skeleton, well worked over by wolves, sitting about 10 feet back from the road. I think the shot actually predates my owning a digital camera!
 

Another Reason Our Mail Is Late

I actually had to drive two towns away yesterday to pick up a package for Steve. Luckily it was sent with a tracking number, so we knew exactly where it was when it was supposed to have been delivered.

He had ordered a bunch of bag clips, the kind that hold a food bag closed after you open it and remove a small portion to eat. It happens mostly in frozen foods for some reason. The tops never tear or cut straight, or the little divot on the side doesn't tear off cleanly, or the plastic bulge-and-groove don't fit together like those name brand storage bags do. You know, the ones which have the ZIPper that LOCks?

We had a single bag clip in the house, and since I was currently going through small frozen fish fillets three-at-a-time, nuke and add lemon pepper,  it was going to be in use for a while. It was doing a good job, so we decided we needed more. A twistie just won't work on one of those opened bags.

The first issue was making sure the place we ordered from actually had some domestically and didn't need to import any. I still have a clock 4 months overdue, and some bathroom rugs 1 month overdue.  (OK, I confess: slow learning curve!) The store still says two days from order to delivery in their online ordering system. It actually used to be true. Now it only works when the desired item is actually in the store, so it says it can be picked up with the grocery order or delivered today. (For an extra price on the latter.) We've been arguing with the store on the clock and they refuse any responsibility, no refund or store credit will be given. They also haven't changed how they list items so you can tell you'll have to wait indefinitely for nothing, you're SOL Baby!

These weren't postal problems, however, just filling in how complicated it's been getting to order things. Because of those issues, Steve went over to eBay to place his order. Due to the strong feedback factor there, the vendors usually work extra hard to be sure everything is done as promised. His clips were promptly mailed out and had a postal tracking number he could follow. They were to arrive yesterday, and as he started to check their progress he'd reminded me of his need for me to go retrieve them once delivered. He really was in a hurry!

But wait! The tracking number said they had been rejected by the local post office... two towns over!

Say what! Why there?  I looked up their local phone number, not the 800 one, and he gave them a call. Was our package really on their premises? He gave the tracking number, and she both looked online and physically located the package. Yes it was, along with two postal bins of other misdirected mail that would be put back in the system tomorrow. In other words, a couple more days till actually delivery.

Hey, could I drive over and pick it up from them?

Now this is where you gotta love small towns for helpfulness. She said yes, and over I went to get it. We chatted briefly, and I mentioned we'd been having a number of problems getting our mail in this other town. She told me not to blame our little local post office. Apparently this happens regularly, that in the big sorting facility in St. Paul they often put the wrong tubs of packages into the truck which drops things in this location instead. Yes, most of it is actually theirs, but just today there wasn't one wrong tub but two wrong tubs of mail that had to be rejected... after the truck drove away and they went through their own sorting of packages.

Hey, St. Paul regional sorting facility, anybody there reading this?

On my way out I thanked her, both for her help and the information. Steve has his bag clips, and is happy with how tightly they can pinch his fingers. (Presumably the bags as well.) Good feedback was given to the seller, so all should be happy. I think next time I'm in our own post office I'll have a chat and see if they are aware  of what's happening.

Oh, and I would have been happy to pick up both tubs of our local mail and bring them to the our post office. I know I'm not authorized, of course, even though I would have taken the task more seriously than the folks who were authorized to get it on the right truck were. So I didn't even offer. Sorry, all the rest of my neighbors who are still waiting for their packages. I know how that feels.

"No Kings" In A Small Minnesota Town

I had to prep for this. A folding chair went in the car, just like it would have back in Arizona when the demonstrations were for Grandmothers for Peace. This time there wasn't a car full of pre-made signs to pick from so I needed to prepare my own.

Cardboard! I'd recently broken down a bunch of boxes which had been taking up space in the living room. Metal fasteners had been removed for regular garbage, and side panels separated to fit in the recycle bin. I located the spray can of glossy white paint I'd previously used to touch up dings on the car to prevent rust starting. I had a larger square of plastic to spread across the front porch deck, and set the selected cardboard on it to get sprayed on both sides... three times to get good coverage.

After it dried overnight and was no longer tacky, I used magic marker to lay out the letters and words. They were filled out more than thin lines in order to be visible from passing cars, except for the middle line of text. I'd planned on red but that marker quietly gave up the ghost months before. More trash. Plan B, then: cut the Duck Tape (yes, that's spelled right for the brand)  I'd bought weeks before into narrow strips and arrange them over the written letters to fill and contrast. Now the huge middle word said "EPSTEIN" in hot pink, with fattened black letters above and below that to demand "RELEASE" and FILES", surrounding that too-familiar name. Other signs could say what they wanted, have nice formalized professional graphics. I just wanted to remind anybody who read my sign of another reason we were out here messaging to traffic. Just for variety I also wrote on the reverse side in black marker "NO KINGS" and "ANTI FASCIST". Some times you gotta flip the sign.

Amazing once I got to the protest how many other signs mentioned the need to release those files as well.

I was early. That was planned. I wanted to find close parking, which I did. I also wanted to find a spot for my chair near the curb where I could sit and let taller demonstrators stand and fill in behind me. We were quite spread out. Not sparsely, since most of us were 4 or 5 deep, tallest and largest signs in back. There were four large sections of us. A central commercial block divider split the town highway in half. We lined up in the middle, facing traffic both ways, and along both outer (residential) sides. I noticed a woman with her walker there, the kind one can sit on, and decided next to her was a good place. We chatted off and on during the two hours I was there. Others filled in on the other side, mostly standing and walking around, and the crowd came and went through the middle. Some people brought children, others brought dogs on leashes. Attention veered away from the street when our first inflated chicken costumed demonstrator arrived. It happened a second time when a caped super-hero  walked in - so much for that flying cape, uh? - and once more when the inflated unicorn showed up. There may have been other costumes, but I spent most of my time facing the street. No green frogs however. Apparently those were long sold out.

Of every dozen vehicles passing by, from cars to large rigs and huge trailers towed behind, probably 9 of them honked and gave friendly waves. Windows were often rolled down to very visible smiles, waves and thumbs-up signs. Many shouted encouragement, cheered, waved their own flags, even applauded if they weren't driving. At least two were noted to have gone around and around circling us, honking loudly and repeatedly. Somebody must have known one of them since I heard a name called out.

Some people did their best to ignore us. One woman really stood out, hugging her steering wheel for dear life as though we might have jumped out into her path to ... What? Hand her a free mini flag? Hitch a ride? Try to get run over? Who could tell what was in her mind besides obvious nervousness. She did leave an impression however. I hope wherever she was bound she made it safely... and was glad to be there instead of at our party.

The third category was the opposition. They'd yell out Trump's name in a friendly (deluded) way. Or mocking us. We saw thumbs down, and middle fingers raised. Loud expletives were mostly drowned out by the high traffic level.  Loud engines were revved as if being obnoxious would change our opinions of anything except whether we ever wanted to get acquainted with those individuals. Some draped large Trump flags or banners over their trucks, circling us repeatedly in case we missed them the first 18 times. (When I left 4 of them were pulled over further down the road in their own mini demonstration. Very mini. At this point I figure our group was somewhere well over 300 people, nicely crowding the small space we had and the outer sidewalks. I'd be interested in an actual count, though people were always moving in and out and back.

A stoplight paused traffic passing periodically, which helped when one blind demonstrator had to be escorted safely across to where the bulk of us were. The pauses also gave us chances to chat, share stories of other demonstrations, commiserate about the upcoming ending of SNAP or rise in health insurance rates. It wasn't all politics of course. Fall colors had decorated the world overnight. A particularly spectacular orange maple tree had gaps between leaves allowing peeks of blue sky above and blue lake below. What a day to forget the camera! As we were discussing leaves, another person pointed out how skewed up the seasons were this year. Across the street, below that magnificent maple, a couple clumps of purple lilac bushes were back in full bloom! That usually happens once, near Mother's Day, not again shortly before Halloween! Apparently the person pointing them out had noticed other oddities recently. I tried to listen but her words got drowned out by traffic and honking again.When next I looked she had moved. 

But the chicken was back! And now talking to the Unicorn!

Maybe they were also wondering where those huge Soros checks were, eh?

I Just Don't Understand This About Physics

 Don't get me wrong, I do understand parts of it. Those things make perfect sense. But other parts are a puzzle. Today was a splendid example.

I tripped. It happens. I landed on one knee, in a paved parking lot next to my car. So far, no mystery yet. But once inside the building I had driven to, and sitting in a chair killing some time, I started feeling my knee complain. Nothing major, just a quiet whimper.

It wasn't serious. In fact, I'd checked the knee of my knit slacks once I got up, and there was not a thread mussed up, not a spot or stain, not a ravel. The pants bore testimony to it never having happened. I'd have expected some dirt, even though it had been raining much of two days but with minimal accumulation, like under 1/3 inch in the rain gauge. Hardly enough to clean a fairly level parking lot.

Of course, it wasn't true that nothing had happened. My memory works perfectly, recording the fall. Even my knee had started to send out little reminders that I hadn't just been bouncing on the bed or something. It was just a little tender. At a moment when there was no audience around I pulled the pant leg up to look at my knee. I expected a small bruise. Just a little thing, since it had been over a decade since I was on blood thinners and a tiny bump turned into an issue. By which I mean a huge bruise covering the front of that leg down to the foot. In the right light, the skin over that piece of me still shows a shadow. It's a souvenir just to remind me.

Today there was no bruise. My knee looked more like a grill had been scraped over the (nonexistant) kneecap, alternating parallel stripes of red and skin from top to bottom. It wasn't bleeding, just somehow scraped and raw. There was no indication of skin strips or blood or grit or anything on the inside of the pant leg either. No bits of gravel had forced their way through the weave, sticking to me. Absolutely no indication anywhere of an encounter with some asphalt.

Except the missing skin bits declared somehing had happened. So did a few nerve endings. And maybe a slightly pulled muscle on the back side of that knee, which has rapidly lessened with modest walking as the afternoon spent itself.

So the physics question I have is this: how does the force transfer itself into marking my skin, after going through a knit fabric, and leave no other evidence of its passage? Not one single broken fiber!

I just don't get it.

I bet crawling into bed tonight is going to be interesting however. I'm still off all painkillers these days, till the doc says otherwise. Maybe not even then.

I Know That Smile!

We watched High Potential last night. It's fast becoming a favorite TV show. I'm hoping they continue with what they're doing and the character development. Too many shows  take a wrong turn, as far as we are concerned, and lose us. We no longer care about the characters. But this one is doing well, so far. She's crazy-smart, cares about her kids, and gains the respect of the cops around her, especially those who wanted to dis her for how she dresses.

There's a long standing mystery behind the weekly crime solving, in case you haven't watched it yet. Our main character's husband and father of her oldest disappeared one night on an errand to go buy diapers. That baby is now a teenager who has believed for years that her father never cared about her. But we are getting clues that something else happened to cause his disappearance, that it wasn't voluntary, and he may even be alive.

Enter a new character, a middle aged black man with a landscaping business who may have some knowledge of what's going on. Last night there was a scene in a restaurant booth where we got close ups of his face while he was in conversation. He'd never looked at all familiar to me until that moment. I knew that smile! I've seen it before. The face is older, heavier, and otherwise unrecognizable. But that smile haunted me all night. Who was he? Where did I know him from?

Sometimes when you start a search with minimal information, you ask Google some really stupid questions. OK, the program name and.... Well, I erased our recording once we finished watching it. So what else do I fill in to identify the character I wanted? Do I ask who's in the restaurant? Who knows what happened to the dad? How about his most significant contribution in the episode: who brought the backpack? Because that has some kind of important clue inside that we'll find out about next week. 

Maybe.

So I googled that and got a name of the actor. OK, not helpful, I don't recognize it, nor the plethora of small headshots  that accompanied it. Apparently he's been in a whole host of movies... that I've never seen, and many I've never heard of. There's a musical background, equally useless for me. I don't pay attention to the latest hits. Let's check further.... OK, TV stuff. 

Wait, there's a young face, along with the smile that I recognized. He was a doctor on ER! Got it! I watched that show without fail for the years it was on, recognized an actress who became Dr. Who's wife later on that show once I started following that for a few years, and when I had the opportunity to follow ER again in reruns on another network, watched those again. 

I knew it! With all the other facial changes, that smile stayed the same! Mekhi Phifer, now a character named Arthur, used to be Dr. Pratt on ER. 

OK, now I can get some sleep.

Why Are You Wearing That...?

 It's been another week of doctor stuff. I had to visit my Primary, get lab work done, go to my last (for now) PT session and have a long talk with the therapist about how to maintain in the interim before rescheduling that consultation with a shoulder surgeon. Later this week I was in the hospital for an endoscopy to try to answer questions about the why behind some of the side effects I'm having. It was scheduled the same day/time as the surgery consult, so that got cancelled and will be redone. If I can't even get my fall flu and (newest) covid shots right now, no way I'm getting surgery.

I woke up from that endoscopy procedure with a very runny, sneezy nose. It continued, and still does. I went to a pharmacy next day to check out what kind of cold medications OTC will be OK with my diagnosis. The obvious answer was expected, though I had to be sure I wasn't overlooking anything: avoid any having NSAIDS on the ingredients list. He didn't bat an eyelash at my conjecture that the NSAIDS were the primary culprit for my pancreatitis. I expect he's heard that before. (The doctors all concentrate on my alcohol use. Have they never met a teetotaler before?)

Just in case, I wore one of my old covid masks into the pharmacy. One doesn't get a cold from a medical procedure, especially not as quickly as waking up out of a lovely "nap" from propofol, otherwise known as "milk of amnesia". Exposure was likely two to three days earlier, meaning it was at my primary doc's office. PT operates off the same lobby. I hadn't been anywhere else in the time frame. I haven't even been working.

From there I drove to our community mailroom, parking outside the door, saving myself a longer walk from the house. I popped the mask back on that I'd removed while driving. We're all seniors here and who knows what other issues my neighbors might have? As I left my car, one woman exited the mailroom with a piece of mail, and her tiny dog on a leash.

"Why are you wearing that mask?" I was startled, not just at the question I've never heard from anyone  before, but from detecting a bit of hostility in her tone. I first assumed she was one of those die-hard MAGA folks who are suspicious of all kinds of common sense, medically based practices that came out of the pandemic. I chose not to get into that with her. Too little energy.

I figured she likely couldn't catch the hint of a smile on my face as I chose my answer. It didn't deter me.

"I picked up something. I didn't want to share it. I'm selfish."

She aimed a quick up/down look at me, then said, "Good. You keep that mask on!" It came as an order.

I didn't crowd her as she strode past and down the street. I had been thinking about a quick offer of a petting to her dog as we met in passing, but decided to leave her dog unfriended. I'll probably not recognize her next time we meet, but I'll likely know the dog... and remember. There was no "How are you doing?" No "Are you OK?" No "I hope you get better soon."

Meanwhile the fastest moving thing in the house these last days has been my nose. I refer to myself as Drippy, Runny, and Sneezy, three of the Seven Dwarfs. I don't have the energy to add Sleepy and Dopey in there, even as they occur to me now. The tissues are running low, but we have a huge pack of rolls of those paper towels that tear at the half size and soak up a whole lot. I can even set one aside while I fill the next and go back later to find the first usable again.

Meanwhile about two weeks wait for results on the biopsies they took.