Just So Wrong

Another pool walk, another set of people, another conversation overheard.

This time I wound up talking to the mom, Judy. She was actually walking. Her daughter and another woman were planted each on one side of a boundary wall, chatting in place, talking while wet. No exercise beyond flapping their jaws. This time it was about how much things cost in various places, and one referenced a favorite vacation spot she could pop into at a whim as costing $7,000/month. It was immediately justified because she had "nobody to leave her money to."

Say what?

Two reactions. Has she been so selfish that she hasn't made friends, grown a family? No deep connections anywhere so she knows somebody who could possibly find a use for some money?

Or is she so lacking in empathy that she can't spend a little time looking around for some worthy cause to make a donation to? Trust me, they are out there, begging. Help animals? Children, healthy or sick? Arts? Education? Libraries? The environment? Sponsor an artizan by contracting for a special project? Just toss $100 bills off a rooftop into the wind?

There is always somebody. Unless you can't be bothered to care.

Or think you can take it with you. I've heard it burns just fine there.

In The Third Week Of Packing

The first thing packed is a box with jewelry making supplies in it. It was part of finally cleaning off the dining room table to make it usable after two years of housing scattered jewelry supplies. I knew I needed enough to teach a niece and nephew a couple jewelry techniques while we visit them, plus supplies to fix last year's present to somebody else where the size was incorrect. Everything else went out to the jewelry table in the next room. Now the dining room table is perfectly able to start everybody's new collection of stuff that had to be set down someplace... just until... hey, is somebody ever going to move this mess?

 OK, the food is all packed. Water too, other than the gallon jug we'll fill for the dog last minute. The water is even in the car, two 24-bottle packs side-by-side on the back seat behind me. Really, why haul them into the house just to haul them back to the car in a few weeks? The food is in a sturdy plastic crate that will fit on top of it where the combined height won't interfere with my rear and side vision of the road.

The crate itself was an elaborate packing job. First the shopping for non perishables: dried fruits, jerky and Slim Jims, nuts, crackers, gorp, canned soup, microwaveable mac-n-cheese with foil packs of tuna to get mixed in, pudding cups. Then we needed a spare set of silverware, just two place settings, cheap enough so no problem if something gets lost. A pair of smaller boxes with our names on them hold a day's worth of food, possibly more, each with a mix of our individual preferences, as balanced as possible. Once we eat our way through our boxes, we'll repack with the next day's worth. Or two or however it works out.

The glove box is packed too. I cleaned it out... pretty much. Amazing what was in there that nobody knew about. To begin with, I always keep the car manuals in there. They stay on the bottom. On the very top sits the handicap parking hanger card, these days only Steve's. I no longer qualify. Next in priority, and sitting between, is a plastic bag with all the cab cards, inspection reports, insurance proof, and repair/maintenance receipts. By now that's pretty full. There was a map book, 50 states plus Canada. Handy as you think that'd be, considering I don't use GPS, it's very seldom used. I try to know where I'm going before I get in the car, and often keep the mental image of where the roads go and what the names/numbers are I'm looking for. Consider it a result of my 2 million+ miles driving as a courier. Unfortunately, that map book had every page sharply folded an inch from the edges by sitting cramped in there for several years. In practical terms, unusable. There's a different map book in there now. The printed itinerary will go in on top of everything, all the info needed for where, when, route, and phone number for each stop. Both pages.

Finally, there are four (!) glasses cases floating around, hard bodied. Two have sun glasses that clip over regular glasses, one is a pair of sunglasses to switch with regular glasses for Steve. Finally, the real surprise for me was my previous pair of trifocals. It had been so long I'd forgotten what they even looked like! Usually I return them when I pick up my new pair so somebody else can use them. This time I forgot. There is so little change in my prescription that they are still perfectly usable. This pair comes in handy, however, for two reasons. They now have one of those cords fastened to the bows to help keep them on my neck should they get taken or knocked, off. These will be the ones I wear on our jet boat trip up the Colorado River out of Moab. Once they survive that, I'll be ordering new lenses for my favorite purple frames this summer, and will wear those while the others are in process. Love the purple frames, hate the lenses. Don't need to buy both.

The living room is collecting piles of things to go along on the trip. There are miscellaneous presents we're bringing people, much cheaper than mailing them. There's a cooler for ice and beverages, slender and perfectly sized and shaped to fit in the hatch between two more plastic crates which will themselves get packed and put in back to organize miscellaneous boxes, bags, and what not. A load of empty pill bottles, sans labels, will find a home somewhere, taken up to donate to a charity which finds homes for dogs. Some of those dogs need meds, and blank bottles save the charity an expense. We have a relative who is good friends with somebody who works there, assuring us they are welcomed.

The dog has her own collection of stuff to be packed. She gets the passenger side of the back seat, ending with her kennel. On the floor between seats will go her food, treats to tempt her back inside the kennel after pit stops, water and food bowls, flea control, harness, leashes, sweater, dental chews, special blanket.... I'm sure there's more, but it's all in two locations, so the night before when we load up the car it will be an easy relocation. The only issue is that the kennel has to sit level, which the seat isn't. In addition, it will have to be raised about 4 inches so the kennel door can actually open, since the space between the back seat and the car door is where Steve's walking stick goes. The stick sits high enough to block her kennel door unless I raise the kennel up. 

I have a plan. We have a few flat things which can ride under the kennel. There's a big book which Steve is giving to a friend for one of her students. That's one inch. There are extra bags of dog food which can be patted flat where they need to be and arranged, along with bags of dental chews, blankets, and whatever else can go there to raise and level out the base for her kennel. Of course this means she won't be able to jump from the ground right into the car, but at 18 pounds, I think she can be lifted. The seat belt will be in use for the duration, as the kennel only comes out one time, during the boat trip where the company office person will babysit her... for a fee. Can't leave her in the car for 4 hours after all.

Steve and I have our own collections of meds. He uses a set of small sectioned containers to divide pills into types, with very good magnetic closures to keep everything intact. One of each every day and he's done. Those pack nicely into a suitcase. The labeled bottles with the remainder not needed during the trip will get their own box or bag. I go a different route. My morning pills go into little ziploc bags, one bag per day. Evening pills the same. Sharpies label them for clarity in case I totally lose my ability to distinguish between very different sets/shapes/colors of pills. Another set of little ziplocs each hold my instant mocha mix for every morning, and are packed right next to the morning pills. Those are already packed and in a pouch in my suitcase. My labeled bottles of post-trip pills go in their own box in one of those crates, but not until much closer to leaving because I'm still dipping into those bottles every day, and will be accompanied by a variety of toiletries and sundries I can't live without once we're up north, just in case, and don't wish to have to buy after arrival. This trip is expensive enough already! I'm sure 95% of those will be returning with us, but you never know....

The living room floor is covered by a variety of empty boxes, as well as those large plastic reusable shopping bags. Some will be filled and put in the car. Others will stay here and stored or recycled. I just need to remember to go through them to be sure all the packed ones get out into the car!

The rest is still on the lists. They were the start of the whole process, two sheets plus spillover to the back sides, double columns. Lots of stuff is still in use, like clothes. I actually could pack my suitcase right now, but don't need to. I'm using laundry as my excuse to postpone that packing since some of it is dirty. The last to pack will be the electronics, their chargers, and a super-strip multi-plug surge protector that will be removed from the TV conglomeration and packed. Have you noticed that too many motels have perhaps one double outlet for those important chargers to get plugged into? If you're really lucky, it's actually in a usable location. I've seen rooms where the only outlet is over the bathroom sink! Talk about a safety hazard, especially when said sink is just a basin on a pedestal without a countertop.

It's gotten complicated for us medically. I need to plug in my recording device for my pacemaker, which collects the information each night and sends it via wi-fi to the cardiologist's office. It's a process with lots of green and red flashing lights which has been known to wake me up. Steve's pain interrupter for his back needs to be recharged daily. Both our laptops will need charging, though I've convinced Steve - I think - that our Kindles won't actually be in use on the trip. The cell phones need charging at least every other day. 

Did I mention we're traveling with 4 cameras?And about 18 batteries? Luckily, three of them use identical batteries,  6 of which are brand new. We also have 6 plug-in-while-holding-the-battery chargers, one for three batteries for the oddball camera, the rest identical. The car also has charger capacity for a single battery at a time,  hooking up to the charger case rather than the camera, as well as two more chargers for our different cell phones. These all go into the port where what used to be a cigarette lighter went when cars came with those. (Boy, make me feel ancient again!) At least the tripod doesn't need charger space, a small mercy.

Why, you ask - you did ask, right? - so many cameras? First, I got a Nikon Coolpix several years ago. I love it so much I convinced Steve he'd be happier with a decent camera that would give him good, high resolution pictures and be simple to use. Then my original Coolpix produced a grey spot in the photos, oddly only visible against blue sky. Of course it's situated exactly where sky is in pictures, center top. It's not on the lens, may be inside the telescoping lens or some other kind of issue. Likely as expensive to fix as replace. So I started looking for a replacement, and found the same thing but with an upgrade, 30x zoom as compared to 22x. I do a LOT of zooming to get close to critters visually which somehow prefer not to get close to me in person. Go figure. It's been refurbished, and the price was reasonable. All three of those use the same battery, charger, etc. I plan to use the new one as much as possible on the trip, and if performance matches my expectations, pass the older one on to my stepdaughter. She tends to shoot people, and a flaw in the sky shouldn't matter that much. I'll show her how to work around it. If she takes up the hobby as I did once getting a decent camera, she can upgrade to her own satisfaction.

The 4th camera is an older Nikon, a SLR camera, lots of fiddling with menu changes and a long learning curve. I'd used it for a couple years solely in point-and-shoot mode, and retired it on a shelf. With interchangeable lenses and filters and stuff, it's case takes a huge amount of space. With the car so loaded up, why am I bringing this one along too? It's a fantasy goal. I want to take advantage of going to Dark Skies areas and get some star shots, particularly the galaxy. I only need one setting, one lens, one cable, Steve's tripod, all 3 well-charged batteries, and the willingness to get up and out around 3AM on at least one clear night. I may well do a repeat shooting session in a different location, different foreground. The macro and telephoto lenses and filters can stay home, so I've borrowed the smaller case from an even older camcorder to fit what's needed. If it works well for night shots, I'll likely try again during the summer from remote spots in MN or WI, or on the way home up in Glacier. The nice thing about keeping it just for star shots is that I can set everything ahead of time for that situation. I've been doing my research, both with its manual (surprise! I still have it!) and a couple online resources, made notes on the appropriate pages of the manual, and it shouldn't take three hours to set up for each shoot. I may find out that the three original batteries for it are too old to take more than a couple pictures each with a 25 second open shutter, and I'll need to replace one or more.  Success or not, either way, besides the ground scenery, it'll be a new adventure for me/us, and isn't that the point of a vacation?

What? You just want to relax, snooze, drink, and veg out? What kind of vacation is that?

Replying To An Email With Some Reasons

I've been communicating with a friend quite a bit lately. We met while demonstrating for peace on a Sun City street corner, an activity halted by covid, not yet resumed. Even if it had been, she's living out of state and these days only comes down this way to visit one of her sons, something else halted by covid.. The other son is a covid long hauler, needs a lung replacement, and has other medical issues which deny him eligibility to receive him. Naturally his mother is devastated.  

I've been trying to cheer her up a little by sending her some of my "cheeriest" photos along with some stories behind them, as well as giving her a chance to rant and blow off steam for her excruciating situation. She appreciates these, and fairly regularly suggests that I put them together with some of the stories behind them and make a book. She has encouraged me to do so often enough that I decided to share some reasons why I'm not interested in taking her up on her idea, not to be confused with a lack of appreciation for her enthusiasm. Following is my reply to her latest suggestion:

"You have way more ambitions for me than I have. Write a book? I do well in short form... sometimes. What's in my blog would constitute about three books by now, perhaps more. But I write what and when I feel like it, and work to keep on a single topic like an essay. Or a rant. Or a story. I write so much so often that I get it out of my system until the next need comes along. And for all that, I have about a dozen regular readers, not too inspiring. Of course, when I look at total history, a few of the posts get world wide attention - imagine that! And I've got something like 96,000 all time views. Nearly all of that centers on one particular post, about my disappointing experience as a Jobs Daughter when I was a teen. But a book? Not so much.

"Part of that I'm sure is my well deserved retirement. As a single mom without child support for over a decade, I worked nearly all my adult life for 6 or 7 days a week, 12 to 14 hour days. Often I had second jobs on top of the first 60-hour one, and/or did volunteer work, got involved in yet another hobby. A book seems like a job again. Had enough. These days I'm writing more to you than I even put in my blog! And yes, I appreciate the appreciation. But writing tells me when I need to do it, not vice versa. It keeps me semi-sane, dumps all kinds of frustrations or other strong feelings, and I love the mellow in between. It's of the moment, not something long and planned out. When I need a year's long project, I plant a tree. Or another bush. In between, I read, watch TV, go to the club to learn new jewelry skills in hopes of making a sale, wander in search of new pictures, and plan the next trip.

"I take pictures, again like writing, because I must. It captures - at its best - a moment,
a memory, something of beauty to me, a long gone season, even a way of recording something as basic as exactly where across the yard the gas line goes so I know not to dig there years after the paint and flags have gone. I record as in depth as I can places I can never afford to visit again, and visit other places repeatedly in hopes of getting even a single picture better than one I've taken before.

"With rare exceptions I do not shoot people. I do not record people visually. I record them emotionally. I'd be terrible in a line-up picking out the crook. I can't tell you who wears glasses unless there is something particularly striking about the frames. I finally, after knowing him for over 30 years, know that my husband Steve has hazel eyes.We had that discussion several times, and it's the discussions that registered.  I have to see somebody several times before I recognize them for sure, more before I recall a name. I walked into a camera store in the Twin Cities well over a decade ago and saw this guy shopping there, thinking he was familiar. He was, but I had no idea he was closer than 250 miles from there where he lived, no reason to expect him in that store other than a shared love of photography which he does way better than I, and  hadn't actually seen him for a few years. After studying him a bit, I walked up close to him and gave him the opportunity to recognize me. He did, and I wound up having dinner at a nearby restaurant with my brother that evening!"

Keep Those Cameras Rolling!

OK, old terminology, but I'm a geezer, and we just had proof of how important recording history is in real time.

GUILTY! GUILTY! GUILTY! 

These unanimous verdicts came in yesterday at the ending of the Derek Chauvin trial. Nine plus minutes, uninterrupted, unedited, incontrovertible. Thanks to a teenager, we have unimpeachable testimony contradicting the "oh my, the prisoner had a medical incident and died in the hospital" first version of the murder of George Floyd nearly a year ago. We all see the excruciatingly extended time when Chauvin's knee remained on Floyd's neck, long after he complained he couldn't breathe, long after he called for his mother, long after bystanders protested that Chauvin was killing him, even after nobody could find a pulse or after the first responders came to "revive" him. We see the callous indifference in Chauvin while it drags out, the subtle smirk on his face, the hand in his pocket, the "I'm just  hanging out here folks" attitude as if he weren't actively killing Floyd. Just another day on the job.

These kind of incidents may or may not be more frequent lately. What we do know for sure is that they are being recorded more frequently. More of us are witnessing by recording what's happening as it happens. Some folks say that those recordings don't show what leads up to the deaths of more black people by police, but how often - really, ask yourself how often - does the precipitating incident, not necessarily even a crime, justify death? Does a $20 counterfeit bill carry the death penalty? Does running away after a minor traffic stop justify it? Does reaching for your phone justify it? Does walking while BLACK justify it?

Cops often claim the black man was scary, that they were afraid because the person moved a hand, or turned away. Somehow they never are afraid if a white man does the same thing. A mental health crisis, where somebody is unable to respond to commands, too often means death if you're black, not so much if you're white. If cops can't shake that attitude, they don't belong on the force! Now personally, I've never had a bad encounter with a cop. I don't have any fear of an encounter. But I'm white. And no, it's not fair. Or just. Or even sane. Things have to change.

So everybody out there, keep your smart phones handy. Be a witness to injustice. Record it. A few more verdicts based on actual recordings of events have to push change for the better. Cops need to be trained better. They need to be mindful that they can't be the criminal also and have immunity from consequences, no matter what their union claims. The need to check their racism at the door, or just exit it as they leave the force. Even as those verdicts came in yesterday, another black person got killed by police in, at least, a questionable situation.

Someday, we all will have to recognize that justice has to start by lessening the need for it. There can be no true justice after somebody is dead.

Keep those cameras rolling!

A Bad News Phone Call

It came late morning. The stage 4 melanoma has finally won. After a two year fight, she has at most two more days. When she was diagnosed, she was already stage 4. There was a fight with getting insurance as she couldn't afford it on her own, finally getting the state to pick up the bill. Medication was prescribed, with the caveat that she could take it as long as she felt like taking it, but when she stopped, it meant she'd have 6 months left. at most. Her means of employment stopped due to Covid, and she moved away to live with her sister and near her mom.

Her name is Brenda. You don't need more than that. I'll give her a last bit of privacy. She was  someone this extended family considered a friend, someone one member thought of as a sister, someone my son gave his whole heart to for years even though he knew and tried hard to accept that she would never fully commit to him.

Both he and one of my stepsons worked by her side at her very last job for several years. She became a member of the auction house team earlier,  how I became well acquainted. But Rich knew her first, working with her for the same boss for several years before all that. She was invited over for backyard family bonfires / weenie roasts. I made sure she knew she was welcomed regardless of what her relationship with my son was at any given time, and it had its rough patches. Some of those I understood completely, some not so much. It wasn't my relationship. When the final breakup came, it sent Richard down here to live with us. It was a bad break, never mended, but she still has Rich's heart.

This household mourns. Some for her death, some for her life and what might have been and never will. But we do mourn, and we do miss her already, even though communication links have long since been broken. Steve and I never got north again to invite her over for a bonfire. An email got a reply that seemed angry and wasn't pursued. Information about her became sparse, then nonexistent.

Until this morning.

Rest in peace, Brenda. You will be remembered, and missed.

One Of THOSE Patients

Yep, that's me. One of them. I listen to the doc, ask questions, then do what I decide to do based on my own experiences, wants, and... well, sometimes just habits.

I just met my new doctor. I finally decided it was silly to keep complaining about my primary care doc and give the one Steve has been raving about for a couple years a try. His name is even more unpronounceable than the former guy, but that's never bothered me. In face, when I had a doctor in St. Paul, her 7 syllable last name was so hard for the staff to pronounce that they called her the equivalent of Doctor Mary rather than Doctor Wilson. I personally found that offensive and made a point of using her last name, which had the hilarious effect of talking to staff who had no clue who I was trying to get an appointment with. 

But I also became one of THOSE patients with her. It's why I finally moved on. 

It usually happens when they go over the meds list, particularly the OTC stuff. Why did I take this? That? Stop. 

Give up coffee? Nope, not gonna happen. When I'm behind the wheel up to 14 hours a day, as I was then, coffee is just going to happen. Sometimes twice on particularly long days, stopping for weekends so my body still reacts to it come Monday.  Besides, it does have actual benefits other than keeping one alert. A couple decades later, I was again advised by my cardiologist to stop coffee, and did for a while. However, once everything was all fixed up and I was getting active again, there were - still are - mornings I have a cuppa. I pay strict attention for any flutters, which aren't supposed to be happening now after the ablation. 

They did start to kick in, and completely quitting coffee didn't help. After reading something, I tried easing back on my calcium. The OTC supplement is a 3-pill dose, containing also magnesium, zinc and omega 3s. Two days after I cut back to 2 pills, the flutters stopped.  I reported the change and reason for it to my cardiologist on my next checkup. She hadn't heard of the correlation, or perhaps hadn't connected a small calcium overdose to irregular rhythm, but she didn't suggest I change the dosage back, just ran the tests needed to confirm things were good.  That's because she's one of THOSE doctors, willing to trust some patients to have some practical wisdom and pay attention to their own body. We previously had been working for several months to balance two different medications to find the ideal combination for my blood pressure as well, and that worked just fine. If any other doctor questions my combination, somehow the phrase "my cardiologist" clears the air promptly.

Meanwhile I'm back to a morning cuppa on those days when I want to be extra alert and energetic.

Doctor Unpronounceable also wanted me to quit taking vitamin C. My multivitamin "should be enough." Too bad my body wasn't listening. I inherited genes leaving me susceptible to canker sores. Mom used to insist powdered alum would fix them, but it only stung. Tasted horrible too. Vitamin C, taken daily, totally prevents them. The dose can be 500 or 1000 mg., depending on everything else going on, including other meds. Thing is, you can't OD on it. The body uses what it needs at any given time, then excretes the rest via the stools. Constipation means up the dose, too loose and it's time to back off. The state of the stools lets you know the proper dose. Simple, safe, with no canker sores for decades. A medication change can mean constipation, and that means the C dose gets a boost too, so much simpler than adding meds for that side effect.

Give up ibuprofin? Nope, not that either. I've been taking it at various levels since 1985. Aspirin doesn't do the job. Tylenol is even more useless, and larger doses affect the liver. Yes, of course I know to have ibuprofin with food. Somehow that's never been a problem! (Ahem.) I also get regular bloodwork done, and my kidney function is still fine after all these years. These days I'm not taking anywhere near the maximum dose I did for years while I had no insurance to replace my knees  and couldn't afford to take the time off work to recover from a pair of surgeries, but at bedtime it helps me ignore all those little aches and pains which do their best to keep me from sleeping. I know my heart needs a good night of sleep as often as possible, and for me it's an easy choice. I had this discussion again with my new doc, asked him why he wanted to insist I drop ibuprofin after listing my reasons for taking it, and decided to simply nod at his points and keep doing what I'm doing. I'm definitely one of THOSE patients still.

The guy I just quit asked me a question that really set me on the path to getting ready to ditch him. Once my knees and heart procedures were finished, I was told to get out and walk. Unfortunately the sidewalks here are very uneven, with curb cuts at every driveway. Balancing is hard enough on two new knees on a level surface. After switching to walking in the street, I picked up a little distance each day, but an ankle started griping. That's when I switched to pool walking. My ankle still bothers in the pool some days, but ibuprofin and a light snack before leaving the house keep it tolerable. I've managed to work up to an hour most times, and made 80 minutes 2 days ago. When the now former doc heard me say I was now doing pool walking for exercise, he looked at me like this was the weirdest thing he'd ever heard of, asking me, "Why?" Now this is a geriatric specialist in a cluster of communities full of senior citizens and pools specially designed for our ability issues, and he needs to ask why I pool walk? 

Sure, it took a while, inertia being one of my strong traits, but I switched away from him. It's because I'm one of  THOSE patients. Barring a reason I find compelling, I plan to stay that way.

Rearranging

There are downsides to sticking something in a dark corner, or out of sight in another room you never go to or don't use because it's not temperature controlled. But sometimes you don't realize it until it's time to make a change. And too often that change isn't even thought of until some reason comes along and slaps you in the face.

We've been moving furniture. Everybody's happier.

It began with need. Rich's stuff hasn't been fitting into the lanai with our stuff already there, nor does the workroom work either as overflow for him or in being accessible to us to use. After all, there was a reason I asked for the power tools in the divorce back when. I used them, saws, drills, sanders, whatever. I painted, hammered, dreamed up ideas and brought home parts. What I made never lasted, but served temporary needs. I kept the tools, however.

A deadline has been approaching, the need to get organized to make the house usable again before we head north. Richard will be staying here, and what he has now simply isn't livable. So I sat and thought, thought and sat, got up and measured, and made a plan. The guys agreed. Rich did most of the work.

The first thing needing to move, the first domino to fall if you will, was the hutch in the corner. It's a dark corner, blocked off by the dining table (now, finally, mostly uncluttered). It just stood there. The top half is a display cabinet, glass front doors and shelves, framed in oak. Beautiful. Dark. Ignored. And somehow, through closed and latched doors, collecting dust inside and out. Its destination was the front entryway. But that wasn't the very first plan.

The hutch houses glass, a combination of carnival glass and crystal, mostly pieces collected during auctions when I worked for one. Eventually the market for the stuff didn't catch up to the supply of it, and auction prices reached my pocketbook level. Then there were the occasional work trips down 35 to Owatonna or further, passing an outlet mall with a Mikasa store. I loved that store! Maybe a piece here, two matching ones there, over the years that collection grew too. Everything sat safely tucked and stacked in that hutch, ignored by all but the dust. My silly plan was to get, aka buy, some piece of furniture to put everything on in the entryway and work to sell off the hutch. After not finding anything to do the job of displaying things properly, my sleepy brain decided to measure the hutch and see how it matched the space. Duh!

Friday was partly spent emptying out everything and storing it safely in crates on the floor out of the moving path of furniture. People too, and making sure the TV VCR box wasn't blocked! Yesterday was spent washing glassware, and trying to find homes for a couple things I had never used, would never use, in order to give up their spaces, enabling prized pieces to be shown off rather than just stacked up.

Discoveries were made. There were two dish sets in the bottom, which I knew, but had only the vaguest idea of patterns, style, or pieces. One I'm keeping. Maybe someday I'll  use them, right? Right? The carnival glass surprises were a delight. I'd collected for variety of color. I mean, why else, right? Get at least one of everything and throw in some vaseline glass. As they were pulled out, patterns emerged, designs, shapes, workmanship started standing out, more so after washing. Once the buffet was in its new position, light from the front picture window reached into it and suddenly, now filled and arranged more artfully, it houses rainbows. 

With all the color, the value of those collectible pieces, the prized ones are a set of not-too-expensive clear crystal goblets, thinnest rims I've ever seen, a common wheat pattern in the glass. What makes them special is they are the  unchipped remains of a set given to my parents as a wedding present back on May 10, 1941. In a month they will be 80 years old. I am not aware of them ever being used, so likely it was moving over the years that damaged the others.

As a practical matter, a block of wood on the floor keeps the house's front door knob from smashing through the hutch glass if the front door is carelessly thrown open. 

Moving it was a two person job, and neither Steve nor I were among the two. Rich has been making friends down here, and one person is trading favors with him. Lending his strength was his part of their latest exchange. Since Rich was taking up his time, the next move had to be made at the same time. That was bringing Steve's roll-top desk in from the lanai to put in the corner where the hutch had been. The desk had also been ignored for years, partly because it just wasn't seen, partly because the lanai isn't climate controlled so it's always too hot or too cold there, and lastly, Richard's clutter made it both unsafe and impossible for Steve to access the desk. Of course the desk is deeper than the hutch, so the table had to be moved closer to the kitchen. I'd spent two weeks clearing it off after two years procrastinating about clearing it off, so finally that was a job Steve and I could handle. With the desk moved, Rich unburied the rug protector that goes with it and brought it out. The big office chair that goes with the desk is still out in the lanai, holding a stack of Rich's stuff taller than its back, but it should be out here soon. Or else. I'm giving Rich a chance to properly relocate what's on it, but I'm fully prepared to dump and roll.

 I'm thinking Tuesday.

Rich now has a wide a wide open space to fill, and he's been busy with the large pieces going into it, He cut the legs on one of two nightstands so the height matches on their tops. Then there is a wide wooden storage piece about 5" tall that goes across, tying the two together as a platform for the dresser topping it all off. His plan ultimately is to move the whole of that into the workroom, but first its spaces have to be filled so all the detritus is out of the way and it fits in the workroom. 

Did I say "all"? Silly me.

My goal for Steve and myself is just to have a permanent and safe path through both lanai and workroom so we can access tools, and mail dropped through the door slot. My goal for Rich is to have a bed (futon) he can actually use, instead of storing two foot tall piles of stuff. He'll then know where things are, rather than burrowing through all the piles for whatever's missing, rearranging those piles so much he can never find the next thing or the next next thing, in the process of which he again loses that first thing. Oy!

Just call me an optimist. Snicker all you want.

Greeley: Through My Eyes And Steve's

 Greeley is the place Steve thinks of as his home. While his family traveled all over the mountain states, Greeley was where Grandma was. Where his childhood best friend was, one he still keeps in touch with though both have moved away. Where part of his heart will always be. He's joined a Facebook site where oldtimers reminisce about what was and explain it's place in their hearts, and younger folks probably wonder where the magic went and if it actually takes magic to paint those memories in such rainbow colors. Of course, I'm just guessing here about the younger generations, since we seem to be so different with the technology revolution cutting a sharp line between us and points of view. 

Steve is one of the regular posters on the Greeley site, relishing his new emotional connections with others who post of long ago times or even not so long ago ones. He plans to try to physically meet a few while we're in the area on our trek north. Much as I love my guy and appreciate his enthusiasms and nostalgia, I'm of a divided opinion as to whether I wish to accompany him or perhaps drop him off and take my camera someplace else for a bit. Would I have anything to contribute? Or just be an intruder, an eavesdropper on private and ultimately unsharable conversations?

Sure, Minnesota born and raised though I am, I knew Greeley. It wasn’t nearly as early as Steve did. But a childhood trip with my parents and brother made me fall in love with mountains, any mountains, Real Mountains! While the North Star State claims to have mountains, whatever claim they had was long since ground away by glaciers. Minnesota has a few large hills, and only ski resort PR really claims otherwise. I don't begrudge them a living, but nope, not real mountains.

I drove through Greeley before I even met Steve, but not by much. Back then (sounding like a geezer again, aren’t I?) my eyes were peeled as soon as I hit 76 heading into the state, searching the horizon endlessly for that first glimpse of the Rockies. It used to happen when I hit Brush, up on the bridge. Pollution now makes that first glimpse much closer and less sharp. I still wouldn’t have seen Greeley yet, nor cared.

When I was the one driving through Greeley, it was just that: something to drive through, hopefully before the feedlot fumes made you pass out. Or before you grew deaf from the kids’ complaints about the smell from the back seat. It was on the way to Rocky Mountain National Park, the car loaded with three kids, a tent, and whatever other camping gear I could cram in to a Chevy Monza station wagon. Fortunately, back then it was a short drive between sections of open land on either side.

Even after I met Steve, after I started taking my then best friend on those vacation trips, Greeley was a pass-through, the Park still the goal. A few years ago, he gave me his real introduction to the city. We were between Minnesota and Arizona, and he’d gotten a wonderful idea, taking months to work it all out. His former band leader, Earl Faulkner, now deceased, had been a very important influence in his young life, and he wanted to find a way to let Earl’s family and the citizens of Greeley know. I think another rewatching of “Mr. Holland’s Opus” was his inspiration. With coordination from several people still in and around Greeley, a ceremony in the old high school auditorium was held, well attended, a plaque presented, and even the current band who likely never heard of  Earl, played on stage at its end. For me, this was not just an introduction to the school but a new window into my guy.

He’d concentrated on putting things together and seeing the project through up to this point, but now he really was on a nostalgia kick, wanting nothing more than to show me the Greeley he knew and loved. There were moments of confusion getting from place to place due to all the changes down the years. Buildings were replaced, roads extended miles further out, new names and numbers and intersections abounded. We never did find a favorite grocery store, for example. But the factory making the special honey which made that store important to him was still operating.

We did stop on a side street to look through a few back yards to the house where he played as a kid with his best friend Gene. The back porch was their playhouse, their fort, their stage for every drama they enacted together. This usually was some version of a post Civil War reunion, best friends from opposite sides, united again and off on adventures to solve the latest crime or rescue the damsel or cure the ills of the world. (When I finally met Gene in Florida, the two realized another life dream, going to one of those costume photo studios, donning their respective soldier’s uniforms, and getting their combined portrait taken.)

Steve took me past two homes he’d grown up in. One is now a business, the front altered nearly beyond recognition, though the other is unchanged. We stopped outside Rice’s Clover Honey - the reason we’d been searching out that one grocery store earlier, as it had stocked that honey - and I heard how it was the absolute best honey in the world, bar none. Still waiting for a taste, though. He pointed out stores downtown that used to be - or perhaps still were - businesses he remembered, while he tried valiantly to include everything important that happened at each location.

So many details, so many feelings, so impossible to take in all at once. It was a combination of joy and regret, feelings so strong crowding in that he finally needed a break. He guided me to Glenmere Park. By then Fred Basset needed a walk as much as Steve did, though for different reasons. I took advantage of the break to pick up my camera and capture the many pelicans and cormorants both in and around the pond there, before we headed out for supper to Kersey with some of his family, passing all those feedlots that… wait! Where did those feedlots go?

About Those Cookies

Mmmmm, peanut butter chocolate chunk, fresh from the oven! Those are the good kind of cookies. Computer cookies? Often a stupid idea.

Take shopping, the apparent reason for most cookies. If I buy, say, a new battery for a camera, or for that matter virtually any product, after doing a little research or comparison on availability or price, I'm suddenly flooded on any site I go to with ads for the same thing I just bought or bigger. A small part for my car seems to mean I am secretly looking to buy a whole new car, because since I spent $15 bucks I'm going to spend $35 grand. Right?

Guys, wise up here. I. Just. Bought. It. Why would I need another one, if I haven't bought it already? When one is available, many more are too. Your ads are just a little late to the party, doncha know.

Or is it just that I'm weird? Don't other people look for something when they're ready to buy, and buy it? Or do all the rest of you dither endlessly about something that catches your eye before making a decision and wait for the resulting plethora of ads surrounding your screen to make up your minds for you? Do you all have such budgets that when you like something you buy seven more?

I'm not saying here that all cookies are a bad idea. (Well, maybe those bakery fresh baked peanut butter chocolate chunk ones are, because they're seriously addicting. Girl Scout Thin Mints too.) The computer kind of cookies can be useful when regularly visited sites recognize me and know it's me logging in on this computer. PayPal is especially good at that, for example. Then it's appropriate and well timed. It's the ads that just are a poorly timed way of somebody getting somebody else to think the money they just spent to bring in customers is actually worth a shit spent this way.

Credit Unions: The Good, The Bad, And The Just Fine, Thanks.

 What a difference a credit union makes. I'm not just talking about those vs. banks, though  that's significant too. Specifically, this time I'm talking about two different credit unions down here plus my old one in Minnesota.

I've had the Minnesota one for ages. Not sure exactly, but it wasn't long after I started working my last job, so after '86. It was offered to the entire company, employees and us independent contractors. Getting that automatic deposit simplified life. In addition, they are always helpful, have great rates, and a geezer-friendly website, keeping banking simple from 1800 miles away.

When I first moved down here, it was suggested that I could walk into one of their "sister" credit unions - details supplied - and manage my money in person, staying connected to the original. Yeah, not so much. They made sure I knew they wanted me as a customer. Period. Otherwise....

Fortunately, the one I mail my deposits north to sends me packets of envelopes with attached deposit slips. I use so few checks these days that the deposit slips always run out months before the checks in each book do. The envelopes are free and already addressed to the credit union. I just write the details in and add a stamp.

Of course, these days DeJoy (highly mis-named) has ensured that mail travels very slowly, even well after voting and the holidays are well past. It turned into an issue for me this week, when my stimulus check arrived in the mail as plastic. The previous ones were direct deposited, just like my social security. My checking account was exactly and only where I wanted those funds. So I called my northern credit union.

I was informed there was exactly one way I could get those funds in my account, by going to a credit union down here - any one, he seemed to think - and having them cash the card out and transfer funds northward. Cool! So, I proceeded to go to that old "sister" down here. 

Was I a customer? No? Can't help you. Bye. They did at least refer me to another different one, not a branch, but completely different one, that was about 5 miles further down the road. With an address written down, locating it was simple.

This time when I walked in, I was greeted warmly, cheerfully helped every step of the way, and walked out with my stimulus payment in my northern checking account, the card then shredded in their machine with my permission, plus a check deposited there as well. That's a check that arrives monthly, and I have decided I prefer a 6 mile drive to a postage stamp and a 5 day wait. It happens to be just a ways past my pharmacy, and not so far from a Wendy's where I can get my favorite salad/s. Not to mention I can get in and out at a light for safe turns. I'm still loyal to the great one in Minnesota, but I've found my helper one.

Dark Skies

This one is about aspirations and memories. I'm hoping to recover something lost decades ago, only better.

On our trip north we're stopping in Moab, UT for a few days - or rather, nights. OK, both actually, but this time the nights are also important. Moab's surrounding area is a designated a "Dark Skies" area, one of those vanishingly rare places where one can actually see stars, particularly the Milky Way. (Google photos of Arches National Park at night.) Our timing just happens to be during the "new" phase of the moon, when nights are darkest. 

It isn't guaranteed, of course. It might be cloudy. Hopefully, not all 4 nights. And, oh hell, no forest fires upwind please please please. Being me, of course I am hoping to get photos. I will be happy enough to just see their night sky, but thrilled to shoot it. Of course, therein lies a logistical problem. My shoots-everything palm-of-the-hand digital camera doesn't have a shutter control where I can set it on a tripod and leave it open for 30 seconds or however long it takes for stars. I do have an older camera that might. So I have a project ahead of me.

First, there's charging the very old battery to see if it still takes a charge. And holds it. If it passes that test, there's the process of refamiliarizing myself with it. I didn't do that good a job with it in the first place, since it had auto settings where the camera does the work depending on which button you set it for. Lazy me. But I bought it for better things than that, like  being a SLR - single lens reflex. I can look through the viewfinder rather than try to see a black screen on the back - impossible in full sun! I can set it for moving animals by having it keep clicking shots until I stop holding the button down - or not. Being a SLR, I can have it click immediately rather than waiting that full-second-plus that digital cameras take. I bought accessories, storing them in a huge camera bag, and promptly abandoned it when the little CoolPix came along. 

The old saw about how to take a great picture was "F8 and be there." I fell down in the "be there" part. My bigger, heavier SLR simply became too inconvenient to lug around, and the optics on my tiny one let me both zoom way in and severely crop pictures to get what I actually want to see as a finished product. It will still be my main camera, but it just can't get a decent night picture unless you want to use flash. No leaving the shutter open.

So if the battery works, I'll have to take out the manual and learn how to use my old camera manually - pun intended. I'll also have to actually check whether it has the time exposure feature. (Yeah, I suppose I could start with that part, eh?) And assuming everything's a go, there's lots of time to practice, and plenty of SD cards which make  all that practice free. Unless of course I need a cable release for the shutter like I needed wa-a-a-a-y back when when I was shooting with film in my Pentax K-1000, the real camera which still has my heart. No fiddling with digital menus, just twirling dials until the pointers lined up, and press. If they could take the front of that one and replace the film space with battery and SD cards, hog heaven! It's still around with all the accessories. (Somebody? Anybody?)

Why is all this important to me? First, around 65 years ago when I first started looking at the sky, I could actually see it. I grew up on a resort in Hubbard County, Minnesota. From there the family moved into the county seat, still a small enough town that skies, when clear, showed stars only dimly remembered today. It was clear enough I could still find the Milky Way, though it never looked the way the professional pictures do today, all those nebulae and a bright band of light. I counted 9 stars in the Pleiades, not the 7 it was supposed to have, and still almost caught more if I moved my eyes just so.

Down in my Phoenix suburb, light pollution is so bad the only constellation I can find on good nights is Orion. I know how to find Polaris, both dippers, Cassiopeia, Draco, Bootes, and more, just not here. Not ever. It never really gets dark here. Were I so inclined, I could safely find my way over the lumpy sidewalks and between cacti in people's yards at midnight. (Maybe get arrested too, but that's another matter.) 

Of course there's never any northern lights this far south. During one Homecoming celebration when I was still in Junior High, attending because I was in band, when the flames of the bonfire burning the opposing team's stuffed dummy rose red into the sky, they were met by red auroras covering the entire sky above them, dancing a long tango, flames and aurora finally fading out together. 

This I can never recapture. But maybe the stars....