Getting The Car... Fixed?

It was time for an oil change. I'd been putting it off, opting for just refilling oil every so often. It got even more complicated with the new job, knowing I had to make an appointment and not knowing the changeable schedule sometimes more than hours in advance.

I got a very pointed reminder yesterday morning, however. I was warming up the car to take off for the job. It was a chilly morning, but the weather people - and I do check several - said the nearest frost was about 80 miles away. Need I say they lied? A very solid layer of frost was glued to every car window.

Luckily I keep a tool in the car, the same one from back before we moved to Arizona, that has a window squeegee on one side of the end of a short handle and a hard plastic scraper on the other side of the same end. It was definitely a scraper morning.  A short handle to reach across a full windshield is not a perfect solution, especially with my shoulders. It was fine on all the other windows, and fit the side mirror surfaces.

I know you're about to say just use the washer fluid and get rid of the ice.  This is where our years in Arizona  said "Not so fast!" My last oil change happened there, and in the Phoenix area washer fluid is called "water". No anti-icer. After all, why? When would it be needed? Fortunately I'd bought a gallon jug of the stuff about a month earlier, and still kept it in the car. Not in the fluid tank, but back in the hatch. Before you get all superior about how stupid that is, it's been warm, and the washer fluid tank was still full. I've been squirting it out way more than dust and dirt required, but still, there's been no place to put in enough washer fluid to make a difference. Since I had it, though, I just opened it and splooshed it across the outside of the windshield straight from the jug. Instant melt!

I still had just water in the tank this morning, and was making sure to get rid of it as fast as possible, barring just letting it run while idling on the driveway. It was another frosty morning, and I left the house so early that I couldn't see across the local lakes for all the fog rising off them, enough to block lights across the way. They were just black.

But as soon as I finished my short job duties this morning, I headed over to a close Walmart where I'd scheduled an appointment the day before. Yes, it would provide clean oil, and a full washer fluid tank instead of a water tank. But that reminder I'd mentioned? Yesterday being the first near to sub freezing morning since we moved into the area, I also suddenly had my low tire pressure light come on. I don't mess with those. I made my appointment, knowing they would at my direction pay special attention to tire pressure, and I'd find out how serious it was. We all hoped the problem stemmed from the fact that the last air fill in 4 brand new tires was the day before leaving AZ for good. It was spring. It was warm. Perhaps the air pressure had lowered with air  temperature 50 degrees lower, first cold of this season for the car. One could at least hope, right? Air is free, the cheapest fix of any potential issue tripping the warning light.

An hour and a half after sitting in the waiting room my car was ready. While paying for the oil change I asked if they had made a note of what they'd found. They had. After checking the air pressure in all four tires, (in their warm bay), they pronounced all four tires properly filled. I had a bad tire sensor.

So it was going to keep registering low pressure? I wouldn't know when it lied, or I needed it replaced, or even which sensor it was? 

Yep.

Well, that could get to be really nerve wracking. I started to plan a trip to the metro dealership for a big bill. I need to go there anyway after getting yet another recall notice. I'd fixed all the previous ones, but the irregularity of the job has kept me from making that appointment. Now, however, I at least know one day off I have each week. The next one of those will be devoted to getting stitches removed from my hand before they totally disappear under my skin. So maybe the following week? I'll have to call them.

By this time all those musings had brought me to my car. I sat down, turned the key, and... no tire pressure light. Seriously? Is it just warm enough still that it's all it took to flip it off? If so why didn't they catch that while it was in the nice warm bay? Did they top up the tires enough to get them back to normal pressure?  Did they somehow turn the light off completely after determining it was faulty? All I can say for sure is it registered perfect, i.e., no light, all the rest of my errands this morning. I guess I won't know until tomorrow morning when I start it, if, of course, the morning temps are as cold as the last couple of mornings.  Or maybe not until I get a flat tire, which of course will be at the most inconvenient time possible, since life just works that way.

We Finally Voted!

 It took us a while. The reason for needing to vote early is the same reason for not getting there yet: Steve's back.  But I've already written about that.

In the days since, there was one "maybe" day, where he felt pretty good (for his current normal) and thought he might be good to go... once I got home from work. But of course, by then, no go. Again. 

I was  beginning to feel like a nag: "How's the back today? Do you think it might be OK  by the time a: I'm off work? b: we get you back from the doctor? c: you get a nap? d: you let the pills work for a couple hours?  And so forth. We'd start with hopeful some days, discouraged others, and kept winding up with no-go.

Until today. I drove us under three miles to the county court house where absentee voting happens. We walked in, and neither of us, as usual, had to go through the metal detector. By know I suspect they know us, our implanted hunks of metal, my pacemaker. We've been there a lot these last few months in getting established in our new abode. Likely the handicap parking right outside the door helps a bit too.

We were directed down the hall, found chairs by the voting set-up, filled out the paperwork to get our ballots, and exchanged that for the real deal. After filling them out, I went back to the window to turn mine in. However, I was not allowed to turn Steve's in,  just to let them know he was finished, so they could come out, take the envelope holding his folded ballot and seal it, then put that in another envelope which the county employee brought out with her,  signed and sealed it all together before returning with it into her office. They have a system for people who are not mobile.

While I had been in line at the window, I heard another woman give her name, and her last name caught my attention. I hadn't seen her since February of 2012 at our commitment ceremony. Her husband, a long time friend and personal attorney, had officiated for it! She was there as well, of course, just as I had been at their church wedding. Unfortunately he'd passed away from cancer while we were in Arizona, and I'd never seen him after our ceremony. She and I caught up briefly on the intervening years before getting back to our own business, but it was a good accent on the day's job done well.

Steve asked me on our way out why we'd voted then (instead of asking for a ballot to mail, I presume.) I reminded him of how long it took to get a good enough day for him to get out for a very short car trip. In fact, with any kind of luck at all he might be in the hospital getting surgery for his back on election day. If he hadn't had another day "good enough" to vote day by election day, it would be too late. Who knew how long before the next "good enough" day would roll along? Plus I tend to lose faith in the promptness needed for the post office to  get ballots through the system in time to be counted, with it's current leadership. Look at the primary, where we'd gone in person to vote and he'd hit some issues with mobility. The day after that election we had gotten our postcard in the mail giving us the address for where we were to vote. It was dated 8 days earlier, and had to travel less than a couple miles. Good thing I already knew where to go. This election I wasn't ready to fool around.

This time when I asked Steve how his back was after voting, I added was he feeling OK enough to go a few more miles to the local grocery store and pick up each of us a fresh apple fritter? I'd go in the store, of course. He was! 

Oh yeah, the baggy tee shirt with the sandhill cranes? That's from Bosque Del Apache in New Mexico, bought on our honeymoon trip. We headed to a wintering ground of their sandhills and found out they'd left to go north the day before! But Steve bought a belt buckle, we got our National Park senior pass for $10 which has been well used, after which we headed on to Sun City to look at the house we wanted to buy after viewing it online, met our realtor for a real showing, and signed the documents. 

If you wish to visit there to see winter cranes, take my advice and head down in January! As with voting, a day too late is still too late to count.

Autumn In Crex Meadows

A friend and I, after waiting a few weeks for our schedules to both be clear, finally made it for a full morning in Crex Meadows. We usually get there in the afternoon, or even at sunset one time. For those not familiar, it is a 30,000 acre wildlife refuge on the north side of Grantsburg, WI, the former location of Crex carpet factory. For us it's less than a 40 mile drive one way, heading across the state border to St. Croix Falls, then straight north. How much one drives once there is your individual choice. I've tried over the years but still haven't seen it all. 

The goal for this particular trip, aside from fall color, was to arrive as soon after sunrise as possible. The sandhill cranes are collecting there now, feeding heavily in the surrounding areas during the day and returning in the evenings for a safe staging ground before they fly south. Unlike the cranes everybody hears about in Nebraska which head south to New Mexico and Arizona, these head to the SE US, currently knows as hurricane central. Milton just hit Florida last night, if you need a bit of perspective on why they wait till late fall at Crex while stuffing themselves for their long migration. Usually they head out in late November, when numbers can rise to 20,000 birds .

Just after sunrise the cranes are lit from below in bright colors by the sun when the sky is clear, which we were lucky enough to arrive in time for. This time of year that means leaving home around 6:30 to 7:00... and being lucky. I will point out that sandhills can usually be indentified in flight because the neck is held straight out in front and the feet straight out behind, making them look much like a grey stick with wings. Other large birds tuck their necks, their feet, or both.

After most of the cranes have taken off for feeding grounds, the waterways are still full of trumpeter swans, in this case with three of this summer's cygnets. At this time it is possible to see a hundred swans when you visit...

and very dense flocks of ducks, also working on their southern migration. Hunting is allowed in season. In fact the duck hunters give a huge amount of financial support to the refuge.

 

Flocks continue to fly up and out  for around an hour in the morning, and can range from a pair of cranes to over a dozen, usually several flocks airborne at any given moment. Even if you can't see them you will hear them, their primordial sounding calls unmistakable, and audible long before they themselves are visible or they disappear again.

Fall colors can be spectacular this time of year. This birch has been dead for several years now, but is a great marker for where a stream meanders out of Fish Lake and a great blue heron likes to hang out.

I have summer shots of it, but the morning light down in the hollow was not kind so early this day, eight different shades of grey not quite making the cut, so I threw in a summer shot.

We decided to head over to the Phantom Lake area after a bit.

Driving north up the west side of Phantom Lake one can find cranes out and about hunting breakfast. Being omnivores, that can include anything they can catch and swallow.

Some will be off below the road in a large marsh.

This time we saw something very unusual, a road full of them catching some early morning rays along the road. I knew stopping the car to open the door and avoid shooting through the greenish car windshield would set them flying.  They would have already been gone had another car been on the road that morning before we were on it. My friend did manage to get photos reaching her camera out the window and aiming forward, but even that motion set the nearest couple in flight. Yes, she got great shots of them launching while I was driving. I both envy her and celebrate her success. C'est la vie! Creeping forward another few feet set the next pair off, and an oncoming car (finally!) set the rest off to cross the lake.

By this time, most of  what there was holding still enough to catch a good shot of was literally rooted to the ground.

Our last half hour was spent shooting trees in all their glory. They didn't fly, nor make noises without aid of some wind, and their glory is short lived each fall. But if you can be there within the correct but ever changing range of days, they are not shy to show off for every visitor.

Fall, Finally

Temperatures are dropping into the 40s at night, and 60s in the daytime. The first reports of frost... in other places ... are making the news. For Minnesota that's pretty late. Colors which should have already changed are now finally working at it, before we're back into the high 70s or low 80s again, later this week.

Sumacs are usually the first, and by now most would usually have dropped their leaves and be left with only the red clumps of seeds.

Right now they are full of both, though leaves are ready to thin.

There are trees that, thanks to several weeks without rain, are dropping their top leaves after the merest change in color. But the maples, always the most spectacular of the trees around in early fall, are putting on a show, either in oranges or reds.

 My pardon for the poles in this shot, but these two maples are right around the corner, and this is the only shot without tresspassing. One is red, the other orange, Nothing else has started changing near them.

This is a shot of a tiny section of a single tree, high over a rooftop. It has quite a range of colors all by itself, and much greener leaves lower if one looks at the roof and half a dozen cables spoiling the shot even lower, in front of it. Since this is above the cables and roof, you can guess how large the tree is. It also spreads more than the total width of the house, which itself is quite large. I have shots with cables and dormers and skylights on the street side of the house roof. I chose to stick with fall color, and this tree has quite the variety.

Finally, I have a shot of a tree with a long history, more than the years I've passed it on the highway. I include it for its history, both in life and color, along with my expectations of how the picture should change in a week or two.

Note the frontage road in front and the highway with cars and buildings in back of it. You also see a lot of dead branches. For years I had thought it had finished its life while we were in Arizona. But the back right side of the tree from this viewpoint is a luscious dark green. The pale yellows are other species.

You may well ask where the fall color is. A dozen years back it's fall color was absolutely scarlet. Yes, it's another maple. Another of matching color resided across the highway, just out of this picture to the right. It died and was removed several years ago. This hardy specimen hung on and produced new growth on its back right side, and has been left to continue its life by whoever owns the land. As for fall color, we've always been back down south by the time the new growth changed. I can only hope it has the same capability for bright red leaves its younger version had. Now that we're staying close, I will be watching it nearly daily, waiting to see what happens. 

I hope to have new photos by the end of the month. The oaks should be turning by then as well.

 

Why Beat Your Head Against The Wall?

 I have a pen pal. I've never met him in person. I never will. We connected online, on a political blog site called Daily Kos, where anyone who follows what they call the Rules of the Road is welcomed to contribute, either writing articles or commenting on those of others. I've mentioned this before.

We connected over the issue of climate change. Then took our conversation off those pages and onto email pages. He has time and resources (internet) for research deep into what others are publishing from their own science and data, and shares with people who will listen. I have watched the list of people he sends joint emails out to grow, albeit slowly, and some of those pass the information and sources on back at the original blog site for a much wider audience. 

The following discussions can be long and interesting, occasionally frustrating, as the large crowd splits into two basic sections. The first sees the progression of the changes, has learned about the tipping points, and is "watching" them tip, and  recognizes it's happening at increasing speed while most of the world sits on the information and evidence, ignored, and/or inactive.

The second group is mostly newer on the scene, hasn't watched the progression speed up, doesn't yet know the significance, and is absolutely sure it won't be happening till after they and theirs are dust. (Well literally that is kind of true. They just don't see how things speeding up will cause that dust rather than slow aging like their parents did.) This second group is absolutely certain that somebody, somewhere, will find the magic bullet to stop the process in its tracks and reverse it in time to avert disaster, because we humans are clever and can engineer our way out of whatever mess we've made.

Each group gets frustrated with the other, naturally. It is out of this frustration that my pen pal asked me a question this morning. I took him seriously. I always do, and he tells me he appreciates it. He's currently pretty isolated, aside from a few people helping him with the things he needs while he lasts, stuck home, and in official hospice status.

The topic of his latest dive into other's climate research was about what they call a "double blue ocean event". It is tracking the decreasing amount of polar ice, noting how the process is its own feedback loop in our warming world, and extrapolating how fast it might be until no polar ice remains to keep us within survivable temperatures. It raises the possibility that point could be reached in 2025. That's how important the feedback loop part of the math is. He sent me the link to the research to go over. (If you want to read it for yourself you have to ask. I'm not going to browbeat you with it.)

Yes, that science is grim. And the question my pen pal asked, out of his frustration for all his fighting and spreading the word to those who would hear, was so likely to be useless, was why was he still beating his head against the wall? Or in other words, what was the point of still fighting to get people to pay attention and do something when likely it was now pointless and he wouldn't be around to see it anyway?

After some chatty news, I decided to answer his question, as I heard it:

"As for why beat your head against the wall? You still care. Simple as that. Despite being in hospice, despite being in pain, despite how hopeless everything looks, you still care. Whether or not you're around to "live" through it, you are a normal, feeling human being. (Unlike some we won't name for the moment.) And because you still care, you keep reaching out to others, like me who can't do a damn thing about it but still insists on putting in a garden just for the beauty of it, and possibly to some who can pass it on to others till the ones who can make changes will hear and act. Because we humans hope until we're past the point where hope has any logic in the world. And we have learned, we who read and explore and care, that way beyond us there will be something else here, some new life we can't understand yet, filling and molding this big blue ball on some time scale we can write in numbers but not truly comprehend, and accept we haven't been that omniscient and omnipotent after all. That's why."

Answers, Options, And Hand Surgery

So, the bump didn't go away. It still maintained a square shape, not something abundant in nature.  And it had become, literally, a "hot spot." All the rest of the bruising had disappeared by now, one of the things I was told to be patient and wait for. My bump hadn't obliged by doing the same.  And during the evening when Steve and I were sitting watching TV, the house warm enough for short sleeves and the ceiling fan going,  while both my arm above the wrist and all my fingers on that hand were cool to the touch,  my square bump was warm to the touch. Not neutral warm, but warmer than the hand touching it. Even without the fan it stayed that way.

I wasn't waiting for a referral. My insurance doesn't say I have to, thank goodness, because I'd already been waiting too long. I made a phone call and got an appointment with a hand specialist at an orthopedic clinic, with a Dr. Aundrea Rainville, in Stillwater. They scheduled me for the next afternoon. It was nearly an hour's drive away, but I took it.

Happily.

I showed up with all my medical info and my photocopy of the original x-ray showing no bone damage. They got a new set of x-rays, making sure nothing had changed in the meantime. While waiting for my doctor to show up after reading the new one, I entertained myself with the view of a large pond out the 2nd floor window, and several very red mature maples scattered across the mostly green landscape. It was very relaxing, something I returned to during subsequent waiting periods.

When the doctor showed up, the x-ray still showed no bone problem.  She carefully felt the edges and height, asked how far out the painful area was and where, and explained it was in fact a hematoma. We were exactly where I'd been with two other doctors at this point. But instead of dismissing me, she took it further.

Why was it square? The blood was trapped in between layers in the hand, and could only push up at this point. Being clotted, it retained some shape. 

How long might it be this way? Several months, was the discouraging answer. Not "a bit" or "a while" like the other docs had said, but it might easily last through next spring. She added we could just leave it alone - not what I wanted to hear- but continued that this buildup of blood would attract bacteria in the body to the site, resulting in an infection. It may already be happening as it was becoming a hot spot.

Then, she offered a solution, music to my ears! She could open it up, suction and flush all the built up blood out, and stitch it back up. It would have to be bandaged with gentle pressure to keep a new hematoma from forming in the same location. 

Was I interested? Oh you bet! 

When would I like to have it done? I seriously replied that yesterday would have been good. She informed me that her surgery schedule for today was full...  (DAMN! I mentally reviewed my schedule for the next few days) ...but if I were willing to wait around until she found a space between patients this afternoon she would fit me in before she left for the day.

YES! Yes-yes-yes! Did she want me to head  out to the waiting area? Nope, she'd keep me right here. Now, did I want a local anesthetic or... I stopped her right there. I had no back-up driver. It would be a local, I'd be driving home. Knowing it was a long drive, she agreed it was the only choice.

Now the flurry of activity started. Two women brought in trays of instruments, stacks of gauze pads, large sterile square drapes to cover the table my arm would rest on, and bunches of stuff I could neither name nor wished to know the function of. One spread the first drape over the table, asked me to put my hand on top of it, and  got to work with a couple cleaning pads with a bottle of sterilizing solution fed into them from behind to cover every bit of my hand twice. When my hand was done I was required to keep it in the air. A new drape was set on top of that just used one, with some gauze added where my hand would rest again... but I still had to keep it in the air.

Now the doc came back, checked the progress, and opened up a syringe full of anesthetic. I was allowed to put my hand down again, and she asked if I wanted to watch? 

NO! I mean, it would have been fascinating if it weren't happening to me, but watching might make me react by flinching, or tell myself I could feel it just because I could see it. She slowly gave me three injections, which I could count only from the first fraction of a second for each, plus by feeling her gloved hands move around mine, touching areas not needing to be numbed. When finished half the syringe's contents remained and it was set on the table holding all the other supplies. I joked that we'd better not throw it away yet: we might need more! (We didn't)

She then left the room for a while, giving the anesthetic time to fully work. (Why can't dentists get that right?????) The two women who'd hauled in the supplies stayed, further organizing them to how and where the doc liked them to be for surgery. I could see my hand, which now had a very tall bump rising from over the square, presumably full of the fluid just pumped in with nowhere else to go. I wondered that there was enough loose skin in the area to stretch over all that. Weird as it looked, it was doing its job fantastically well. For the first time in weeks the ache was gone.

Several minutes later the doc popped back in, looked around at where everything was, regloved, and sat down. Several times she asked if I could feel something, and I rather flippantly asked in return whether she was doing anything? Yes, she'd been pinching, rather hard, and was testing if I was properly numb. Yes! I could feel my hand being moved, occasional pushing against it, and as she got down to business, hear something liquid go into a metal pan, feel cool liquid running over my fingers after they'd been set inside a kidney shaped metal pan along with the rest of my hand. When no more liquid ran down my fingers, I felt it lifted, set back flat on the draped table. The palm side all had normal sensation.

I knew more was happening, and sneaked a peek. Stitches were going in. Still no feeling at all, so I actually watched them get tied. There are three. The hand around the area was flat for the first time in weeks, except now for the ridge the stitches make.

It was conversation time again.  Stitches have to stay in for a full two weeks. I could make an appointment with them to come in to get them removed. Or I could see my local doc and save a long trip to get them removed. I thought I might give it a go myself. I'd already told her that I'd self treated my previous break in that hand. So part of my take home supplies included a sterile pack of tools to remove stitched, and she interrupted wrapping the hand to show me where to pull and what to cut, because these were blanket stitches, not going where I might have assumed where they went, and if I were to do it I need to know that. (Pretty cool doc!)

After giving instructions that no water touch the hand for two days, the pressure dressing stays on those same full two days, and can be replaced after removing for washing to keep swelling down for the full 2 week, she left for her next patient. One of the assistants remaining bandaged the hand, first with a multi-folded gauze pad, then winding a stretchy/sticky breathable wrap around the hand until the spool it came from was used up. It looks like what some vets are using on pets these days.

I'd mentioned I had ibuprofin in the car, so no further pain meds were suggested. I took them once I got in, even though I was still feeling nothing in that hand. That started to change once I started driving, but then the ibuprofin kicked in... and after picking Steve up some requested milk, it kicked off for most of the drive home. I'll definitely have a full dose before bed, and start again first thing in the morning, I expect. It's no worse than the ache before surgery, and I expect it will diminish steadily with time.

Trying To Vote

 The primary election went pretty good. Lines were short early in the afternoon, the ballot was party only, so pretty quick to go through, and Steve had a chair to vote from. Getting up when he finished, as it was so low, required my pointing out his issue to a couple of assistants standing around, but they were prompt and effective.

That of course was before his back's pain interrupter went totally FUBAR.  These days he can be reasonably fine when he wakes up but a slight coughing fit will destroy all hope of moving with just moderate pain. Say, like a level 7 of 10. Thus it was this morning. We'd agreed we'd hit the courthouse a bit later to vote absentee, which Minnesota is great about, before he coughed. 

Now it will be an ordeal to get to the bathroom. Or just stand up.

We'll see if there's improvement by around 3, giving time to get there, vote, and get out before the place closes.  If not, each day will be a repeat until fate gets it right and is kind to him.

There has been one major improvement at the house end of the trip. Paul has thoroughly braced the railing along the front door's steps. It had been wobbly enough Steve was afraid to trust it. I noticed the wobble but have been working on going up and down without needing it. The wood in the bottom post anchoring the railing had been rotting, both top and bottom. After much thought and measurements, Paul replaced that post (declaring those stairs temporarily no-go), dug a hole in the dirt next to the concrete where the post rested, and put in a second angled post, making a triangle for true stability. The bottom of the brace is down about 10" in the ground, its hole filled with concrete.

Despite the 4x4s being treated wood, I insisted on paint, and not just because the management would have insisted it be "pretty". I've seen how soon even treated wood, ignored once installed, starts to rot. The new wood got two coats of white primer, which I'd gotten over a month before for this and other painting needed. There was some in the shed left by a previous owner, but after stirring Paul declared it the consistency of cottage cheese. We plan to leave that can and a few similarly old ones open out in the shed over the winter to fully dry out so they can be just tossed in the garbage like rocks. 

Now that the concrete has fully set, I've gripped the railing and tried to shake it. It's immobile. Steve should be just fine using it... as soon as he is just fine for long enough to use it. Monday he gets in to his back doc again to discuss getting his FUBAR machine removed and possibly replaced by one with a better history rather than broken leads and shocks creating spasms, etc. We have no idea how much added wait that will take, and whether it takes one surgery or two. We do believe pulling out the old breaking one will be a big improvement. We hope a better quality replacement will be another improvement. 

Meanwhile we need to get him to vote.