Homecoming

 You know it's gotta be an "interesting" storm when the hail makes more noise than the siren in town going off... for the third time in less than an hour. It's been a while now, no new sirens, so maybe they just gave up, knowing we don't pay attention to those any more (and it's their fault!)

Radar colors have been psychedelic for over an hour. The purples and deep blues are striking, quite rare for what we get, usually a ho-hum green - yellow - red  scale of weather badness. There have been friends and family calling, and vice versa, warning and checking on each other.

Our usual channel from the metro for weather has been running a scroll under the program they haven't bothered to interrupt coverage from. Seriously, who cares about pars, eagles, or bogeys when one of your local warnings announces the option of Mother Nature throwing a twister our way just out of boredom? No TV warning beeps to alert viewers of course. At least now that the loud thunder is nonstop most folks will have turned on their TVs and checked what's going on.

There have been a lot of interruptions since I started this post. An hour and a half later and we're down to a severe storm watch, with even that ending soon for the area.. Most of the nearby warnings have ended. But the watch says we need to continue paying attention for another 90 minutes.  That means over 4 hours under the threat of ... something. Good thing I'm not sleepy ... yet. Videos on TV coverage of the weather (NOT the station still trudging through the golf tournament of course)  of various hail storms are interesting, the kind I appreciate more when our hail needs to bounce in the clouds another half hour  in order to show for the camera.

All kind of people have been checking in with us... or rather, mostly me. I'm the only one awake here. Steve is getting some sleep after a long day, starting with OT for a bit, learning how to do stairs now, with the strong side always on the higher ground whichever his direction, up or down, or how to arrange pillows under his knees while he sleeps on his back, and more tips for learning to live with his new hip. He was released to come home just after a light rain over the hospital he was in finally stopped. The forecast was more weather later in the afternoon, but we got him home dry. I'd love to say pain-free. As it was, a second pill which assists the first one to do a better job has been helping. It's a good thing since he doesn't have the option of using a hip or not, like I have with a shoulder. Once I got him inside, fed lunch, and settled with his computer and/or TV, I headed off to his pharmacy to get new prescriptions filled and back home again before anticipated afternoon weather.

We just weren't thinking of this much weather. Having dry steps to climb once-only to get him back in the house was our main goal. After a short learning curve, we got him in and settled. Mostly. There didn't seem to be a fix for his sudden case of hiccups. He'd had those in the hospital, and hours later still had them going strong at home. He thinks it must be a reaction to some drug he was given. If so, he was still reacting until the storm(s) rolled in. Not suggesting cause and effect there. More like exhaustion from lack of another nap finally knocking the hics and the ups out of him.

He did get in a lot of resting once home and settled, if you can call playing computer games "resting". A few friends checked in on him, making sure he was home and reasonably OK, considering. He made a follow up appointment with his surgeon, had a bit of food. (Did I mention he had the forethought to make and frost a cake just before he left for his surgery? It was still sitting there waiting for his return. Interesting lunch. )

Then the sirens went off. Head online to Weather Underground for local maps and the ability to roam, expand, shrink our view. As usual the first (!) siren was for the northern end of our county, heading eastward. A relative or two were in the path but likely safe with a shelter in their apartment building. Just to be sure we connected on the phone, shared information from various sources. A mutual friend who lives between us was sheltering in her basement after seeing a wall cloud in the sky. A tornado was a possible part of the mix. (Later reports say "maybe".) But as usual their weather went on in another direction and we were still clear, so the two of us chatted about how Steve was before hanging up. 

A subtle rumble of thunder and darker sky grew in our awareness, just before the sirens went off the second time. I called my son who lives in the vicinity and was likely home by then from work, just to make sure he was paying attention. Over many years the county policy of sounding sirens in the whole county for anything anywhere in the large county trained us all very well to peek out, see nothing, and go back about our business. (I told you our ignoring the sirens was their fault!) The bad weather never came our way in all the years we lived here. TV and internet radar images today had this system slowly moving in our general direction, about as close as they get to accurate. A more dire vocabulary was being aired in the scrolls along the screen bottom, warnings, map colors, and times became more interesting. It was building, and now a second system to the south, covering much of the metro, was vying for attention. The lists of counties involved grew longer every few minutes. Ours was still being mentioned.

Steve had had enough for his day and went to bed, painfully and with assistance. There was a choice to be made. We live just a walk of a block to a huge new storm shelter with room for all. Or we could stay put. Steve was in no condition to move another inch. I wasn't going to leave him. After informing him of that, I contacted my son and his daughter, inserting into each weather and health exchange the fact we were staying put, together whatever weather did. In worst case, if people had to hunt to find us, home would be the place to start. Whatever, we would face it together. Steve tried to sleep. I worked on finding the best and most weather information available. I jumped around a variety of sources. I kept trying my favorite weather channel  hoping for better information,  but that network was still following that stupid golf tournament, and settled for listing counties needing to pay attention and suggested hours they could stop. The screen scroll was a faint pink over a red banner, all but impossible to read. The warnings on all channels kept stretching out later... and later. What started around 4 was now a probable severe event for us until 8,  with the "where" and "what" in the warnings going on now in all kinds of other locations - according to a news station I never usually watch. Most of their warnings involved street names or neighborhood nicknames, most identifiable only to the few living exactly there. They did show some cool video of hail turning summer white again.  They also mentioned the worst part of "our" impending storm to be located right on top of us, so the sirens went off the third time.  Sure enough we got our hail. (Let's see... right once in how many false alarms....?)

Dark clouds brought louder thunder rumbling nonstop , hail started pinging on any scrap of metal it could find like the top of our grill outside, and once windows had their blinds drawn I peeked out under a porch roof to monitor events in real time. Rain, sure. Yawnnnn, no biggie. Hail for about 10 minutes, as impotent as hail can be that couldn't make it near to pea sized even if it had a threesome going. What hit a neighbor's roof rolled gently down, not enough momentum to roll past the 1/4 inch lip on their gutter. Still rain, still thunder but no visible lightning, no wind to set a tiny wind chime off or flutter neighborhood flags.

Another phone call, another family member heard from, how were we? After about five minutes of bringing each other up to date, I had to cut the call short. I was hearing the weirdest noise from close outside. The only thing my brain could conjure was some kind of electrical sparking going on, something like a crinkling sound with a few Zs every so often. We didn't lose power for a second but I  started going from door to window to window, looking out, expecting to see a fire starting or transformer  spitting. I had no idea what but figured I'd better have my cell handy for a 911 call if I did see something. There was nothing, which was just fine with me, thank you. The noise had ended by then anyway.

Weather was moving on, warnings "till 8PM" became watches ending sooner despite being further out on the storms' paths. Sun peeked between cloud systems, other folks in the path might still need to worry, but Steve could sleep and I could try to recall everything and put together a post... between more phone calls checking in on each other. 

I'm actually considering supper after a bit. I might settle for a few peanuts and crackers. Steve's phone is going off while his people check on him, so he's not getting sleep, even if his hip would consider letting him. His bit of activity getting into bed and getting pillows tucked under his knees have resulted in needing his next dose of pain pills, but he's waiting a couple hours until the clock says it's OK. About posting time after proofing this should be just about perfect.

Waiting...

 It seems to summarize my days right now. I'm waiting... for my shoulder to finishing aching when I use it a little bit. It's not that I do really painful stuff, since those are warning signs, but small motions with little loads are appropriate at this stage. There is a cost however, often delayed. I won't request more oxy, and I have to watch how much Tylenol I take. Tolerating even the minimalist store sling I switched to is getting annoying and irritating, so now mostly I just wear it when I'm trying to sleep, working to keep it in place. It does help... coupled with my bedtime Tylenol. I better plan it about an hour in advance however. There is a sweet spot there for easy sleep. Missing it means frustrations costing needed sleep, sometimes hours.

I'm still waiting for that last stitch to "dissolve" the way it was promised, the way all the others finished doing a week ago. It only bothers me when my fingers roam the area, such as in the shower or when there's an itch nearby, or it catches in a knit shirt, but still. There remains a hard quarter inch poking up, and a gentle tug doesn't dislodge it like it did the last one before this. The others didn't even need that. Worst case is early next month I go back to the surgeon and have it officially snipped.Tug! Ow.

I'm waiting for Steve's surgery tomorrow. A lot of hope goes into that, along with lots of recent awareness of the time it takes for a replaced joint to settle in to usefulness, hopefully with diminishing pain for him. We have agreed, just like for my last two surgeries, that the other of us won't stick around, but head home and mostly wait to hear how it went. I can drive now so no problems there, but he'll either be out of it completely, or busy recovering, paying attention to what the hospital staff says, getting some OT like directions on walking and sitting properly with the new joint or, or learning the tricks of stairs again, just so he can get up the six stairs into home. I expect he'll be inundated by phone calls from family checking in...if he remembers to charge his phone! I'll need to be his list-keeper/nagger before we head out, so there's that too. All of that on top of recovering from anesthesia means he'll be needing all the rest he can get, and ... well, I've been there, and no visitors was a plentiful amount, so long as you're actually conscious when they point out where the call button is hiding. I was ready for my trip home and familiar surroundings. He'll be be waiting for that his second day too, I'm sure. At least he'll be getting his needed ongoing PT afterwards at home, plus he's getting pretty good at ordering groceries delivered to the door, avoiding a long winter full of trying to walk on ice to get from house to car to stores, then back intact with full arms. He navigates the kitchen on wheels both for cooking and traversing the house, so as soon as he's got that "down" again he'll mostly be independent indoors. Any falls will be covered by his necklace which sends an alert. If things change for him dressing himself, I'll be there for him like he's still being for me.

I'm waiting for that last shower before he heads off to the hospital because I still need him to assist with getting my arms into my tops with shoulder number two so new, so whatever I get assisted into that last morning will be what I wear for the next two days. (We trust no major spills, because that shirt will just stay dirty!) Bless whoever invented stretchy fabrics! Good thing pants are so much easier for a single arm. Shoes and socks too, or at least mine are. No crappy pantyhose or heels for me for decades, not anywhere in the house! The store-bought sling I use is one I can get in/out of myself, at least with minimal pain during the "in" part, none for taking it off.

I'm waiting for it to stop raining. I'm not complaining that we got a long slow steady shower since about suppertime last night. We've been needing it and most of what has fallen recently has been in tenths of an inch or hundredths, even measuring with one of those rain gauges with a wide opening to show tiny amounts like they were full inches. But right now both the garbage and recycle bins are sitting out curbside, emptied, and awaiting my hauling them each about 60 feet to where they wait for their next loads. It's not much of an issue even when they are as filled as we usually get them, which isn't much with unpacking from the move long since done. There's always been one arm workable for the job. I just want to be dry for the process.  Picky, picky me! Besides our lawn person will need them moved before she mows tomorrow and they sit on the grass next to the street right now. I plan to be kinda busy then.

I'm waiting for the last of my new iris to be delivered. I know it will be a while, and that's fine, but those open spaces are filling up with weeds I can't quite reach comfortably. Then, a bit of extra research has informed me that the Japanese iris need a wetter location... or perhaps just a couple bends rerouting the downspout  a few feet away. I might even dig them out and bury some kind of catch basin under them to hold water which their roots can dip down into to keep them wet enough. It looks like an interesting engineering project, but my son just put a couple bending gutter pieces in one from the roof and I know it's theoretically easy, just work. Depending on who's doing the work (ahem) I'd say it well worth doing, since those are supposed to be spectacular among iris plants.

Who cares if it means I have to (get to) pull out even more rhubarb from the area? So far the 2nd year density of the lilies the squirrels and rabbits were devouring has been cut to near zero, and they're so thick (lilies, not critters) even the weeds are struggling. Most of the rhubarb is used as critter repellent instead of food, so going from two plants to one final one doesn't seem to be a sacrifice. I still have bags from last year in the freezer. They were bagged without cleaning for food safety, meaning full of dirt and whatnot, so all they are good for is critter repellent and a bit of eventual top dressing for the garden as it decomposes. A good friend who loves rhubarb already got the two plants dug up early this spring. It's been slow establishing, so she may well be in the market for another plant while I work on creating a wet iris bed in a dryer garden. Meanwhile she's still coming over to pick enough for her own baking projects from my plants. And I've still been training her to pull, not cut, so the plants she does have will keep producing. I have other neighbors who have heard I'm willing to share with them too who get the same lesson. The only cutting has been the 9 wannabe seed stalks those two plants  produced this year. Or at least nine is all I've counted so far. The cutting on  those seems to be working.

I was waiting for a phone call while typing this, but just got it. The hospital he's going to has all kinds of doors spread all around, and all but one would be the wrong choice for where to take him, requiting a long painful walk, since they want him with his walker, not just dumped into a wheelchair. So we needed which door to take him to. They just called. We got a couple other questions answered about what his PT and OT covers before they send him home. I have our answers now, and the rain seems to have left the area briefly. So time to quit waiting and get back to doing again.  

For now anyway. Maybe another pill first, eh? It's under 60 out there so this will be a short activity.

Oddball (?) Breakfast

I grew up on boring breakfasts. Waffles were exciting... and quite rare of course. Mom often had what she called "Yankee Pudding" for us: white bread toasted, put on a plate with a bit of white sugar and milk. Cut them into polite pieces however you wished. I was bored enough to cut it (2 across, 2 down) into 9 pieces and eat them in various patterns. Yep, that bored. Cereal was common. A step up was french toast or pancakes, and when she really felt like cooking we got bacon and eggs: over easy, scrambled, sometimes hard boiled. We kids got milk & OJ, our parents coffee, black.

Nineteen years till I was out of the house... ho hum.  We were always fed. Never inspired, at least not by breakfast. Now fresh caught fish, deep fried with beer-batter onion rings....... ahhh. But somebody had to go fishing first. Daddy got the last two sips of beer not needed for the batter in our otherwise teetotaling house. I tried it once... ick!

Fast forward a "few" years. OK, decades then. I'll hit the freezer section for individual meals, ranging from eggs-plus to Pad Thai and much in between. Fast and no work other than the microwave for that and heating water for instant coffee is the rule. "Dishes" are disposable, cups and silverware not, so Steve deals with those when he does his kitchen cleanup. Some days I might involve the toaster for PB&J. I got "wild" and switched to raisin bread in the toaster, plus a dab of cocoa powder in the hot coffee water which instantly became standard.  When the microwaved scrambled eggs got boring I added cut frozen peppers and onions, or jelly, homemade by my youngest and always plentifully distributed to the entire family and friends. Occasionally I'd switch that up to orange marmalade which he doesn't make. Other times I'd pop on a slice of pepperjack cheese, maybe some turmeric for interest or color. 

Whatever it was, it was fast and easy, no pots and pans, no messy stoves. Those were Steve's domain. He loves to cook that way. I just let him clean up as well. My one exception, of course, was the Thanksgiving turkey and my stuffing muffins, enough work over two or three days to discourage me for another year.

This morning I decided on something a little bit different, a new combination of old favorites. The big freezer is still over-full from both of us stocking up on raisin bread. Steve's kind of tired of it, going back to Italian bread or sourdough these days, leaving a plentiful supply for me. I decided to try a new breakfast sandwich. There were two ends from the last loaf, the replacement loaf ready to move to the fridge and start thawing. I'd set out the orange marmalade on the counter, finally tired of how solid it gets when chilled even when trying to stir a spoonful over hot cooked eggs or fresh toast. The label doesn't call for refrigeration.  So it got spread on the two heel ends, thin pre sliced pepperjack cheese on each before plopping a thin slice of ham between, folded together into a sandwich. No cooking needed, toasting totally optional. A paper towel makes an adequate "plate". A little "heat", a lot of flavor, and good nutrition in every bite. I might be hungry again by 2, but likely not sooner. Thirsty maybe. The ham is salty regardless of flavoring. This one happened to be applewood smoked.

OK, call me weird, and don't bother to try it. Or get bored... or brave... and give it a try. You might get hooked... for any meal.

Scammed

Yep, it happened to me. I fell in love with a picture of an iris online and bought it... and then did some research. Company's reputation sucked, colors were... improbable to be polite, not to mention the same photo popped up with several different variety names attached. Further research yielded even different species names! Same photos of course. Oops!  I'd say shame on them, but it seems to point just as well on gullible me.

At least I didn't spend a lot on it. After that I went to reliable sources first before thinking about ordering. Back in the early '90s there was a fairly local farm that specialized in iris and daylilies. With a new house at the time, nothing in the yard, I did some shopping while they were blooming, and most are not just still living but scattered now across several yards. (Ever hear of a daylily aptly named "root beer"?) Unfortunately they went out of business, reasons unknown.

That "first" part this time around included catalog companies I recognized and had ordered from, though interesting varieties were already sold out while other shipping dates were long in the future. I wanted to get starters in the ground earlier than that in hopes of seeing flowers, not just foliage, next year. I already have a lot of foliage that hasn't bloomed and won't yet this year. That's one reason I'm reorganizing flower beds: some things will have to be removed to give others a chance, and I'm aware of plants from last year I'm simply not motivated to keep. As soon as they bloom I can pick them out to dig them out... and hopefully share.  Free of course!

Other sources I found online were local garden centers with impeccable reputations, which often post catalogs of present or future offerings online and/or are within easy driving range. I'd already done some shopping that way on trips to the grocery store. Most of their stock wasn't even in yet, so impatience kicked in. 

Anyway, I'm already looking up various varieties with names from purchases last year, having forgotten what their flowers were supposed to look like, wanting to identify what has bloomed and what showed no sign of it yet. I now have names to go with color patterns... as well as some still complete mysteries. I expect some growers had cross pollination happening in their flower beds. It's how the world works. Most of the surprises have been fun. Who knows what the next years might bring if mine cross-pollinate?

Several tubers with good roots and cropped leaves arrived in today's mail, mostly each containing one kind from each shipper. A happy surprise was one grower which added a bonus in their package, a color I have a single one of already, new this spring in flowering for me, and a second in that color is a happy bonus. There is still one ordered variety to be sent - a frilly pink one -  and this afternoon's plantings left a space for it, as well as my having it marked on my chart for that small garden. I'd forget names by next year. I know because I already did that for most of my iris which bloomed this year. I had to go back and research names for previous orders to figure out what had or hadn't bloomed yet, and name the ones that had. That was the plan anyway, somewhat implemented.

I had tried to carry that name listing practice over to a long narrow bed of asiatic lilies, disappointing last year, due to squirrels and rabbits,  gangbusters in still closed buds this year. Uhhh... names? Who knew which were left uneaten? And oh yeah, there were a lot of multi-variety bag purchases. Oh well. Call it a kaleidoscope bed. Enjoy taking pictures. At least I remember the Forever Susan ones. Maybe the Stargazers survived to bloom this year? I do recall that purchase and I'd recognize those. But anyway....

That scam set of "iris tubers" arrived in today's mail as well. The packaging was really cutesey, but it was the only package with no name identification of its contents. At least there were two solid lumps inside the bubblewrap, though no moisture keeping whatever alive  for shipping.

Turned out it didn't actually need any. Not because iris aren't hardy for somewhat dry shipping under the right conditions. But because the two lumps weren't iris at all. I recognized the species immediately. I grew up with them. Mom planted them in every garden I can remember. These were gladiolas corms, or bulbs if you must. She likely had them because her name was Gladys and these were "glads". (Kind of like my trying to  grow heather once, an epic fail on my part.)  Mostly glads are very easy to grow, at least in any conditions anywhere we lived in Minnesota where she could put in a garden. There might also be tomatos or squash plants, but there were always roses, glads, petunias, and deep blue delphiniums.  I absolutely know the difference between the plantable part of iris and gladiolas. These were NOT iris! I have nowhere any room left for a couple stray glads. There's enough wind off the lake here that they'd need staking just to stand up long enough to bloom.

I set the real iris starters in a small bowl of water for a little soak before planting, and left the little bag of 2 glads on the counter, future TBD. Maybe somebody would like them. A lot of the neighbors have some kind of decorative garden or even just hanging pots of flowers. Worst case was I could drop them in the mail room for anybody to help themselves. We do that with a bookshelf where they come and go, and even catalogs occasionally are dropped for potential customers... or the recycle bin.

Meanwhile, anybody remember those wannabe roofers? They never showed, of course. But another crew was going through the area offering the same service, look at our roofs and suggest needed new shingles. The fellow who rang our bell was pleasant and not pushy, and inspiration struck. Did he know anybody who liked gladiolas and could give two stray bulbs -color unidentified - a new home?  He did. His boss's wife loved them at their home, and she'd be happy to plant them. He didn't make a roofing  sale but he did have something the boss could give his wife! And I didn't have to throw them away or be pissed off at the scam, an even bigger win for me as far as I was concerned. Somebody will enjoy them, even if I never find out who. I don't need to hold onto the bad feelings they arrived with, turning the scam into a gift. The iris from other orders are all planted in time for the evening rain to soak in, and now only one plant is outstanding, due for later shipping in about a month. A spot is waiting for it, the last open one in that garden except for two from my son's garden, also not due for transplant until that time. Those get to bloom this year first.

The next nice day here I'll be out cutting back dead branches from a totally different bush in a different bed, making room for some blooms this fall. It bloomed our first fall here, skipped last year, left lots of dead branches,  and now is greening up well to try again. That, or I get the shovel out before next spring. There are other bushes I like, don't just take care of because they were here before us. After all, I dug out two roses with horrible recurved thorns that snagged everybody within their reach, meaning mostly me! I like roses but they don't have to be vicious! Nothing has replaced them yet either. Rocks work just fine so far. My arms should be in good enough shape for digging and replacing the other bush if it again fails to bloom by fall. I already had signs of improvement in pain levels for that needed iris planting. Of course the soil is still very loose there. But I'm getting better, in multiple ways.

Last American Survivor of Iwo Jima Is Gone

Steve is an avid fan of the Pacific theater of WWII. He reads and rereads, after collecting the whole of them, all of one author's works on the history. He knows which ships, which generals, which islands, which things happened on. W.E.B. Griffin is the author, and I'm assured the details in the main are correct. Bits of conversation to send the plot along, perhaps are not word for word, but on the whole it stands as  history.

So when he read that headline today, he passed it on to me. That last surviving American soldier was 105!

I had to pause to wonder what it must have been like to hold those memories all those years. Or whether they were covered over and hidden as long as possible. As a non-veteran, merely military-adjacent through family members who don't talk about their WWII or Vietnam experiences, I can only imagine. Did the Iwo Jima survivors consider themselves heroes, bearing their memories with pride, or do their best to wipe their mental slates of all their experiences? Did age filter in and erase the harshest memories? The most heroic ones? All of them indiscriminately? None at all?

My memories are those of a typical baby boomer in America. I've heard some tales, watched some movies, seen the statue (or photos, or reenactments) of the flag raising to proclaim victory, and have an inkling of the cost on both sides. I'm content not to have been there, have no wish to travel there, or by now pretty much anywhere overseas. Perhaps if I were wealthy I'd have different thoughts on more traveling, but I can, through the wonders of technology, get visual images of practically anywhere on the globe without the expense or inconvenience. Somebody else's travel experiences remain colored by my own preconceptions and imagination. 

As of now, no further questions about that last soldier's experience will be answered. By the time this post is finished, I doubt I'll be raising any questions on the topic either, but it is a moment to stop, think about the little we know, and recognize that all history passes this way, either preserved more or less accurately in some story somewhere, or not. It is up to us now to assign importance, learn whatever lessons we can be bothered with, and continue... or not. 

Meanwhile the sun is shining, the wind is blowing the next weather system closer, yard storm cleanup calls, as do requirements for new plantings just delivered in today's mail, and the next nap calls. There is still always the next thing.

Stupid Question Du Jour

 It took me a while to get around to wondering this, I do admit.  It comes out of morning ritual and recent life experience, coupled with (temporarily missing) shoes.

Piqued your curiosity yet?

Here's the question: which weighs more, metal or muscle? To make it a fair question, I can't help by quantifying the amount of each in question. But here's how it came to mind.

You know I just had a second shoulder surgery. In the process they removed one of five muscles on the top of the shoulder called rotator cuffs. That was replaced by titanium, two interlocked pieces where each end screwed into bones formerly connected by 5 of those muscles. It created a new joint where, once fully seated in place, pain nerves were replaced by smoothly sliding metal. Not all pain nerves, as that is a work in process, to be aided by time, bone healing, and 4 remaining muscles taking on the load formerly borne by 5. Hence the need for weeks of physical therapy after healing, or PT. The arthritic grinding is theoretically removed, though nobody has explained whether bone was also removed, just that the moving/grinding bits no longer connect to nerves.

The morning ritual is a weigh-in, sometimes immediately post shower, sometimes fully clad and in shoes. Variations are usual, depending on everything. It's been pretty stable for months within those variations. I can usually account for shoes, winter clothing, and meals/digestion for adjustments in results. I weighed in this morning without the shoes and got a slightly different reading from most similar mornings, prompting my curiosity. And to be honest, I never thought to do a closely timed comparison pre and post surgery since the one major one around 20-some years ago which removed a lot of tissue in order to check a sudden growth for cancer. (It was negative.) In the space of hours I "lost" 11 pounds.  These past two shoulder replacements basically didn't move the recent needle on the scale except within the usual parameters with the usual causes.

So is it a stupid question? Does somebody out there weigh body parts removed and body part replacements and do their best to make them match, ounce per ounce? Does anybody in the world worry about whether people suddenly emerge from the hospital with a tilt, especially if they're only getting one side fixed instead of both? And if so, who? And why?

And you're still reading this?

One of THOSE Phone Calls

I'm pretty sure we all get them, the kind where somebody or company calls up and "offers" to perform a free roof inspection so they can let us know "if" we need new shingles. I bet you even think you know where this is going, right?

I'll take it from the top.

The caller ID didn't give a name, just a number and the suggestion that this was a spam call. The area code was one of the many in this state, not necessarily informative as to actual location any more than my cell's code is.  Sometimes I actually answer those calls. Call it entertainment? Some days it's fun to play, some days it's somebody useful. The label gets applied to nearly every mass-calling service these days, even my surgeon's staff whose primary duty seems to be coordinating medication instructions and arrival times pre-procedures.  For roofing I'm much more familiar with the knock on the door from contractors already working on the block , pointing to their existing job-in-process so we can see how well they're working and how nice the emerging new roof looks. They'll mention something like a recent wind or hail storm, refer to your insurance, and suggest some kind of a discount for you "because we're already here anyway" and "we can put our sign up in your yard for a couple days."

I did that once in Arizona. Several roofs on our block were getting replaced, the crew were well-behaved, and a look seemed harmless. They of course found damage needing replacement. We already had solar panels up - on contract with the solar company - so there was the formality of checking with them first thing about their requirements and regulations in the matter. The two companies were familiar with each other, no impediments there, so the last thing was our insurance company. Their inspector  concluded sure, they'd pay for the damage ... to a specific eleven damaged shingles. Not the whole roof. Those eleven got replaced. Somehow the dead pigeon unknowingly trapped under one of the the solar panels "couldn't be removed" however.  At least it didn't stink, but a shame it didn't discourage other pigeons. Oh well.

This time the caller on the phone verified my name and address, asked how old our roof was (replaced once per our records from the purchase) and offered a free inspection the following morning around 11. I agreed, with reservations. I needed to make a phone call myself, with the park management here, as they are very fussy about workmanship, licensing, inconvenience to neighbors, and any messes at every stage. I'd just witnessed a new shingling two doors away last week, and could barely tell except for the noise of whatever machinery kept everything from reaching the ground, shingles to nails. Even the noise was short lived.

I contacted an authority within the park with years of experience, a go-to guy with lots of information and references if needed, or at least the process needed to locate reputable work. His info let me know what was needed, but informed me anybody meeting the qualifications that we chose to do work on our homes could be contracted with. We'd already discussed the work my son has been doing here, with his approval for the quality and a couple tips for things perhaps not thought of.

Meanwhile the phone rang again, same number, different gender caller. This time I was asked if I owned our home or was living in an apartment? They did have my address for the intended visit, but I guess haven't figured out Google Maps yet. I explained this was an individual home in a mobile home park. He reconfirmed the appointment time and hung up.

Interestingly enough, we had just had a storm go through, lots of hail and rain. No need to be impressed, as most of the hail was pea sized, and just fun to watch rolling down neighbors' roofs or floating down the street in the streams from rain on either side. There was a very occasional combined hail piece, as big around as a quarter but flat as a couple quarters stacked. We expected if there was any damage it would have been to plants, and this morning my blooming peony bush confirmed that assessment by damage to two of the blossoms. Awwww.... The previous day's even smaller hail had wiped out most of the iris blooms already, so not much new.  Any large leaves in the area seemed immune. I figured the shingles were just fine, thank you. Leaving some windows open to cool the house, we went to bed curious how the next morning's visit would go.

First, there was a phone call. I noted the spam likely number was in the previous area code and answered it. Nobody was there. It was nearly time for their appointment. Hmmm......  About half an hour later an odd car pulled in to the driveway next door, somebody got out and disappeared across the yard between us. Thinking it might be "our" people I checked out the windows. Were they checking the roof? About ten minutes later that car was gone, still no communication, and they hadn't gone into the place next door. We can see their doors while we watch TV if our blinds are open.  One of them needs a lot of assistance, and we keep a casual eye on all the traffic, checking in after an ambulance for example, maybe chat over gardening during nice weather. Nice people, new last summer, and I've shared flowers with her. Had I any reason to think our roof inspector was parked there I would have  shooed them out onto the street to park instead.

Eleven came and went. Noon did the same.  I looked the company name up online, since I hadn't before. They had a decent presence online. I decided they weren't going to come at all, not because the job was likely too small for them, which their website assured me was likely, but because nobody had bothered to discover our address was about 80 miles away across the other side of the metro and as far out in the boonies as we are. (Is there another street with our name way over there? I'm not motivated to check.)

A call to cancel would have been nice. Manners, you know? I managed to keep busy, between my laptop, the TV news, taking out trash and recycling, checking for hail damage, pulling an ambitious weed or three, and heading out for the mail. I got in a nice unexpected little nap about 5 minutes into a TV show we'd recorded, which I did finish later, after lunch. I even checked the condition of our shingles on the walk for the mail, something I seldom bother to do wherever we are living. 

They look just fine.