Avoiding Yet Another Garage Sale

 Oh, we're not finished with them yet. But things have been winnowed down. I have two strategies for winnowing and the first one has been a huge success.

As a reminder, we started with the book sale. Pretty big flop, but we finally found somebody who loved to take them away, read all they wanted, and would donate the rest as we were planning to do. So, they saved us a lot of work. The second garage sale was general house clearing, and we sold enough to make it worth our while. But both were a whole lot of work. It was looking like we were stuck with two more sales, one specialized, and later a final estate sale.

The specialized sale was getting rid of the jewelry-making stuff from about 15 years of collecting, planning, falling "in like" with different rocks and beads, and finding myself changing fascinations before using up all the supplies. It started with several weeks of organizing, bits here and bits there. Then it was followed by organizing, say, rock slabs and partially worked ones and finished and/or bought cabochons into piles, as opposed to metals, and as opposed to beads. Bazillions of beads! I pulled out the tools I anticipated needing for the few beads I wished to keep, and a few rocks to pass on just to show grandkids how varied and interesting they can be. Packed! (FYI the glass projects are still in process, so not packed, and no spare pieces identified yet. I've promised the club the extras.)

Next came locating all the bazillion tiny through larger bags that were part of the hobby - either how things came, or how they went to the club store to sell, or whatever. Each little bag contained a unit of some kind of items once those were collected and sorted, say a particular size and color of crystals, or stone slabs or beads, or even occasionally some plastic ones, something fine for kids but verboten for selling in the club store. The last step was combining bitty bags into larger bags to sell as a unit. So a unit might have 4 cabs, or three packs of different beads, or little bottles of various findings. However it worked out, whatever would fit. Every bag, whatever it contained, was priced at a quarter. To induce volume purchasing, 5 bags cost a dollar. Each may well have contents purchased for $20 or even $50!

The plan was to haul everything - with permission - as a vendor into the club, display on the tables, and let members pick what they wanted, hoping for some enthusiasm. Really, really hoping to just get rid of it all. Sure, also make a few bucks on it of course. but just not to have to pack more stuff I would no longer have access to the proper equipment for finishing projects to the standards I'd developed in the club.

I called my best friend down here and a fellow club member. I asked her if she would like first pick. In my house of course, and we could chat while going through everything. Win-win. She bought just over half! Lots of grandchildren to make things for, even grown children including some men who would wear a large pendant on a thong for example. She also claimed things for herself to wear, as there were things matching her own personal exotic tastes. We both were thrilled.

About a week later I got to talking with another club member. She has relatives who love jewelry, and others who hate jewelry but love rocks. I invited her over to look and see if she wanted anything. She came this morning. She wanted everything left! She's a snowbird and has the equipment of her own at her northern location to work on things all year that way. When she was finished, I gave her the total, and she decided me prices were way too cheap. She would give me double. I explained my philosophy, needing to just get rid of the stuff, glad if it made the next person (or people) happy, and they went where they'd see some use. Besides, she saved me hauling it to the club, or worse, hauling it back! She changed her mind at that, and insisted on paying me triple my asking price!

If only all sales were that easy!

I have no real idea what will be the result of my second strategy. I called a local auction house which is knowledgeable about collectables. They'll send somebody out next week to see what I have to offer. It will be a combination of some of the better pieces of furniture (extra expense to move and store), the pieces of my SW pottery - he informed me over the phone that I have "Native American" pottery, the category "SW" pottery was different, just a fad from recent years that has worn out its interest level - plus bunches of the Chinese and early 20th century glass pieces (Fenton, Carnival, Vasoline glass, etc.), items I don't "need" to keep. The person I talked to actually represents two different auction houses, one mostly collectibles, the other furniture and household items. Steve might even throw in his Kachinas, delicate and not guaranteed to arrive north in good shape. Moving those out of the house gives us room to fix up the house and paint what needs it, and finish organize packing once there are empty walls to stack boxes against. 

Then there's only the final garage/moving sale to deal with. Followed by the "FREE" box at the curb.

Then the dumpster.

Unscheduled Equipment Malfunction

 I returned from my morning stint at the club and Steve asked me to take him to Taco Bell. He has been hungry for a taco for three weeks now, and there was always a reason not to go. This time we went.

We sat down with our food and I turned the TV back on. Or at least that was my intention. I had recently put a framed picture in front of the TV stand, adding to the stack of things to head out for our next, hopefully final, garage sale next month. Room is getting progressively more limited in the house and that’s the spot for pictures meant to go away in some direction other than Minnesota. It wasn’t an issue last night or this morning, so I was a bit puzzled by the TV’s refusal to turn on. I first checked my fingers. They battle with two sets of habits from our switching back and forth between Direct and Dish, so occasionally trip over themselves and hit the wrong keys. That wasn’t the problem.

The power was out. Good thing it’s morning and we have plenty of light. Not so good that Steve’s lift chair is in the up position and he can’t sit in it, more like just propping himself up while perching on the seat. Exhausting! But as he pointed out, at least power didn’t die when he was reclined way back and needing to heed a nature call. He relocated to his office chair, conveniently adjacent to the table for eating his tacos.

Did we have wi-fi? I checked my laptop, fully charged, so running on battery. No wi-fi however, so I guess it needs its own power source. How about the phone? I pulled it out of my pocket, pulled up the electric company’s number, and pushed the button. Nada. The nearest cell tower must be down as well.

This is when, despite what I just learned, that I began to indulge in paranoia. Had I, in the recent chaos, forgotten to pay the electric bill? It’s usually one of the first in the month. I had no way to go online to check billing status nor to call the company and check with them. Bugger!

I still had my shoes on, usually by now off for comfort, so grabbed my phone and went wandering. I clearly recall back when I was wearing a cardiac monitor connected to cell service to register “events”, that there were places in the house which did work and others which didn’t. We are between towers and have competing signals. Supposedly it’s a back-up system. Perhaps one tower in the area still works and a short walk around the house will pick it up.

It worked. Nothing in the front yard, so I tried the back. By the time I went through the gate, my phone rang the power company. They have an interesting system that keeps them from having to actually talk with customers. Or at least I presume that’s their goal. We can be grouchy after all.

“You have reached “_____” Power. I see you are calling from “___ ___ ____”. Is your address “_________”?

“Yes”.

“We show a power outage in your area which started at 11:11 AM due to an unscheduled equipment malfunction. It is estimated to be repaired at approximately 2:15 PM.Do you wish a callback when it has been fixed?”
“No.” I figure we’ll be home and well aware when power is restored. We have a battery clock in the living room, things to do in the meantime if our own energy can be restored while we wait on electricity. There are still books, boxes to be packed, naps to take as needed, things to clean in rooms with windows - meaning I can forget the other bathroom -  so why ask for getting somewhere in a lineup delaying the next customer? (FYI Turned out power was restored in less than an hour, or about 20 minutes after my call.)

I hung up on the machine, one unanswered question left with nobody to ask. Do they have any scheduled equipment malfunctions?

It might be interesting to know, after all.

*     *     *     *     *

Addendum: now that I can function online again, after posting this I checked my email. previously blocked by power loss. Sure enough, there was a notice that we had a current power outage in the area, and of course it was time stamped for when we couldn't receive it. Glad my head scratching doesn't produce dandruff flakes.

Termites!

We should have guessed. It's Arizona, after all. 

It's not that I haven't looked for them. I read a few years back that they build little brown tunnels coming up from your foundation to an egress point - or several - into your home. Wood, yum yum. Wet wood, of course, since dry wood is too hard. Go figure.

When we cleared the books out of the library, there were a few clusters of tunnels with accompanying damage in the book page edges which faced the wall. Sometimes they were on the bottoms as well. Nothing to show from the outside, until you happened to pick up a damaged book. Since the books mostly were already read, just saved for... something or another, we rarely actually pulled a book off the shelves. So before the book sale, there were several shocks waiting for us. All the books were inspected, and about three bagfuls went to the landfill. The little brown tunnels were there, all right, but on the inside, not the outside of the concrete block walls.

Earlier this week I called an exterminator company. I had to work up to doing it. I'd searched online, trying to find out what was involved. (Could we do it ourselves as somebody suggested? NOPE!) I looked at likely prices, which ranged from "Ulp" to OMG!!! I had to pair those with estimates, sight unseen, for a bathroom restoration also needed before putting the house on the market. Then weigh the room in the savings and credit budgets, vs. the likely profit from the home sale. 

The fellow from the most recommended company came out today. I pointed out the rooms we knew termites were in. It wasn't just the library, as they'd been chewing up the floor molding in Steve's room, adjacent to the library, and their presence discovered when he pulled out a small dresser to put in our next garage sale. 

Theoretically they're sleeping now. It's winter. I got some actual facts from the company rep this afternoon. They don't sleep here over winter. They don't need to avoid frozen ground because we don't have any. They will be in the house, or actually under the house, hanging out with their queen. Right now the fact that it just rained over an inch in the last three days should mean that they are active and looking for moist wood in the house or wherever they can find it. 

Typical construction here means they have adapted to take advantage. These basement-free houses are built over concrete slab framework. Think of that as like a picture frame. Inside that is another slab of concrete which the house is actually sitting on, with a break line between the two. That's where the termites get into the house. Their home is under it. Little crevices between the two give them egress, and there is always egress. They are tiny things. with tunnels about the width of a number 2 pencil lead.

How the exterminators address that is from the outside of the foundation, all around the house. They dig a trench, put their applicator in under the slab at a downward angle, and spray the dirt. Then repeat every so often so they get full coverage all around the perimeter. If they find signs that termites are up in the attic crawl space, they go up and dig around there and treat that too. (That's not a extra charge. I checked.) Then the termites move around in the dirt that's treated, seeking water, and the chemicals get all over their bodies. When they return to their colony, they get groomed, and the groomers get groomed, and so on and so on, until in about a month all the colony has been poisoned. 

We and the state both get a document that it has been done. The guarantee goes with the house, and an inspection and new treatment if necessary are available for a very reduced fee on an annual basis. 

They'll be back to treat the house on the 1st of February. We just have one thing to do first, in that week. Or should I say, Richard does. Both the patio and carport need to have everything cleared away from the outside walls by three feet so the exterminators have room to get in, drill, and spray. 

I only have doubts that it can be done in a week. We'll see. If it doesn't happen, there will be consequences. I promise!

Another New Scam

They walked up to the door, knocking, then again, then pounding on it loudly. Rude and impatient was my first impression. They were two young man, likely in their upper 20s, wearing jackets that said Kumquat. The lettering font matched but jacket colors didn't. Not exactly a company uniform then. The white car parked at the curb had no identifiers.

The started asking questions about my solar company and how much above that bill I was paying to the local electric company.

"None of your business." Just because they were asking didn't mean I had to answer.

They came back with, "It's exactly our business. Your company is (Xxxx), right. Due to their fraud they've been collecting money from you and not paying (my electric company) enough so you've been overpaying your electric bills. They've actually been kicked out of Arizona and our company is here to fix their mess."

OK, never mind how they knew my solar company. How hadn't I heard my solar company had been kicked out of AZ?  But I barely got the thought formed before they went on, asking to come in to talk to me about their taking over my solar system. I declined. A convenient just-post-covid coughing fit might have proved handy at that point, but it wasn't to be faked for the first time in a week. I'm supposed to keep coughing just to give the lungs exercise and help keep them clear. One starter cough is usually good for a  minute's worth. Even a laugh or lots of talking will do it.

I indicated I wasn't ready to deal with them. Maybe they should approach the new owners once we sold the house? In turn they tried to guilt me into taking care of yet another problem in the long list of pre-marketing the house duties I was dealing with. No way I needed another thing on that list. Without bothering to explain any of that, I indicated I wasn't interested. 

The leader of the two started getting a bit more aggressive. He was clearly in the right, I was clearly wrong, per his attitude. So when would be a better time for them to send their engineer out to talk to me and check out our system? 

I was just imagining the damage another set of boots tromping around on our shingles would tempt into happening. And just shut the door in their faces. I faintly heard the leader giving his cohort a derogatory description of me as I was walking away from the door to go sit back down.

Then I picked up the phone. Time to call the electric company. I figured if my solar company had been kicked out of the state, since my electric company had to deal with them, they'd know what was going on. If any of it was real, I had best be prepared come selling time. Five very informative minutes later, both ways, their answer was nothing happening here. They suggested I call the solar company.

I immediately did, and got the same answer. In both calls, the person I connected with referred to somebody supervising them to get the latest information. Nobody had heard anything like that.

Since I was on the phone I made inquiries of my own on the process for switching the solar contract over to the new buyer, or what other options there might be. Looks like the transfer of ownership, aka contract, should be a point in the home sale contract. I'll keep that in mind. That done, I started making a few other calls on my moving to-do list, getting the process details straight and written down. Obviously ending water, gas, and garbage pickup is a simple phone call with the next person responsible to start when they moved in and needed those services. Other contracts are a bit more complicated.

The final upshot of the afternoon's "entertainment" is just to let people know to double check anything people at the door want to engage in business with you about, especially including an alleged company called Kumquat!  

My next report is to the Attorney General's Fraud Task Force. I think I'll just include a link to this. I also walked next door to our new neighbor. There are a pair of vehicles at her house, and she'd been talking about getting solar. I wanted to make sure she wasn't a target. Turns out her house is getting painted inside, she has a lot more newly empty boxes for me, a realtor to recommend when the time comes, and the Kumquat guys stopped there but she wisely sent them on their way. But she's going to go get a new dog in a few minutes. And fence her back yard.

Progress?

 I'm still packing. Yes, slowly. Although the last few days I've had more energy physically, there is still a frustration with trying to balance the need to box things up in uniform containers with other people's need to be able to load the boxes into their moving container pretty much all at one time. 

The books we wanted to keep were heavy enough, and I made a point to pack them in fairly smallish boxes. Paper is pretty dense and small boxes get heavy quickly. It's probably pretty lucky that nearly all of the boxes which were available were fairly small ones. 

Then we got new neighbors. With lots of large boxes. So packing two boxes a day was making progress. The challenge was making them something which could be lifted. Not to mention moved around. Most of them are stacked two deep here and there around the house. Roadblocks. Some are along a wall where furniture leaves a space. Others jut out into the room they're in. Often an extra pillow - of which we seem to have a bunch - fills the top to ease the weight. But unfortunately, books are not the only heavy things in the place.

Rocks are plentiful. Start with sets of beautiful polished agate bookends. I'm still looking at them on their shelves. Each half is literally quite a handful. Then there are all the beads, cabochons, slabs, fossils, and so forth I've collected over the years. Some were intended for lapidary, some for making jewelry, some just collected for their beauty and maybe to pass down to a new generation in hopes they might appreciate the variety and beauty of rocks. As I was cleaning out the niches and compiling them in a single location, I discovered things I hadn't even seen in so long I had forgotten what they were. Or even that I'd had them.

Since there is no way I will be near the proper equipment to use 95% of them, it's time to get rid of them. Properly of course. It doesn't, fortunately, take a lot of energy to sort through small pieces of rocks and organize them into bags of multiple items ready for a garage sale. Three days did it. There are now three large bags on the living room floor full of small bags of multiple items ready to go over to the club. Prices per bag will be a quarter. I figure those bags will sit there until some time in February. After all, I don't see it as a good thing if I'm still coughing all over them and trying to sell them, even if I'm not contagious, or even at prices a tiny fraction of what they'd cost in a store or online. The tiny rest of that stuff, things like selected beads, wire, hand tools, are all packed into smaller boxes and set inside a tote. They fill it up, and yes, it's heavy. Even after pulling out about 80 pounds to sell, it's heavy.

That doesn't include the bookends of course. I still walk into that room and see those. But at least the tote had handles on each end for carrying. It's stacked inside the former closet on top of another tote, and under a very sturdy box. A very sturdy box. It's still empty of course, because it's perfect for all the little boxes still cluttering the shelves in there, the former library. Those little boxes will be filled with as yet unmade glass projects. I know what they are going to be and how they are going to be packed, each in bubble wrap in a little box. They will be more delicate than what I previously was making, and need the protection. However, they will also be heavy, despite all the air space. I know, since I'm hauling a bunch of pieces to the club later this morning for cutting, and I know how heavy those are. Glass is just another rock, after all, just one that flows under heat, like obsidian from a volcano.

I'm taking Rich along, partly to help carry stuff in, but also to keep me "legal" in club terms. Sundays are days the club isn't used except on very rare occasions, and most of those have been me, popping in to pull something from a kiln and put the next thing in one, or perhaps sending out a club email when others aren't on the computer for other business. On those times I'm always in there with the door open, in case. We're all seniors and even apparently healthy ones doing simple things can have a medical incident. Another person is needed to alert 911 if needed, and the door must be left open for access. The staff do not have keys, nor can they see if somebody is helpless inside if the door is closed. If I'm just on the computer for ten minutes, there is usually a staffer walking by in the hall who knows I'm there and my expectations for leaving.

I have specific projects in mind. Less than 2 months, best (or worst, depending on how long it takes the house to sell) case to get them done. Many of those are already designated for specific people. Others will find recipients later. Some of the designated ones are for people along our route north, and will be packaged in some of those little boxes separate from the rest, kept in reach in the car as we go. I have to wait to pack the rest, not just because they're not done yet, but because of the possibilities for glass disasters. Glass does what it wants to, not what I want it to, though increasing skills and experience do help. And it does break upon impact. If something is ruined, it can't be easily substituted for with something else if that other thing is packed and sealed away. 

That is the long way of saying I'm still walking into the library, seeing full shelves lining the walls. Not empty ones looking for another fresh coat of paint. Packing materials fill the shelves as well as empty boxes. Even wrapping paper and gift tags are involved. Until I'm finished with glass, it will be so. It really doesn't help, except with a lot of persuasion, to know those shelves have been cleared out twice now since we got back south. The books are gone.The jewelry makings are packed away, or ready to be sold but sitting off in another room. The shelves are still loaded as high up as I can reach, and the center of the floor is still loaded with larger packing boxes, still empty and waiting. 

Soon as I'm done with that room except for the final loading to head north, and the shelves are emptied, ready for the painting, the center of the floor will again be ready for filling, this time by Rich. He needs a place to put his stuff in, ready for his leaving. He can't organize until he has a space to put things in he needs to keep or sell. Since his stuff has the most chaos, it's pretty much a stopping point for him, so I need to clear the middle out for him. I believe we can do it while leaving room to go around the walls painting shelves. He'll be able to pack vertically once organized and clear space for his area to be cleaned and painted. It's that... or a dumpster. Hard stop. Covid hasn't helped things speed along.

Progress? I'm trying to convince myself.

So She Let Her Snakes Die...

It was on the news tonight. Just another "this is how bad the weather is" episode. Power went out, houses lost heat. The young woman being interviewed was discussing that her fish (aquarium, I presume) died from the cold. Then she added that of course her ball pythons died too.

Sorry, girly, that latter is plain negligence. And you are a terrible animal keeper. Stupid as well. It would have been so easy to keep them alive.

First, she had the sense to keep non poisonous snakes. Pythons are constrictors, not pit vipers. (If you are reckless enough to keep pit vipers, and try this, you deserve the results.) It's very easy to keep them warm even when the electricity goes out. Here's how it goes. Put each one inside a pillowcase, one in good condition, no holes, and tie the top in a knot so it can't escape. Then, dressing yourself warmly, and wearing a jacket with some kind of belt or drawstring around the bottom to keep gravity from having its way, tuck each pillowcase inside your jacket next to your body. Your heat will keep your reptiles alive, and containment in a knotted pillowcase will keep any constricting motion from gripping you and squeezing. They will get enough air unless you are wrapped in plastic. They don't need food or water for a couple days or longer.

If you are going to keep reptiles, in a cold climate, where electricity can be problematic, at least research some obvious ways of properly caring for them. Anything else is simple animal cruelty. You don't deserve animals in your care. They certainly don't deserve you.

"Promise You'll Tell Me...."

More packing. A box here. Later a box there. Later can be hours or days right now. Exhaustion sets in easily, rest is demanded. On this, day 7, coughing has taken hold. It's not productive, just a kind of tickle prompting it, and like a really good spring it keeps going and going.... 

We test our fingers for O2 and heartrate, and the little gizmo never drops O2 into the 80s. So the coughing is annoying but not scary. Sleep isn't happening as well as usual, and Steve and I both wonder if that has anything to do with our meds. I just know I drop my very tired head on the pillow and the brain immediately starts spinning, sometimes about packing - honest! - but more often about the glass projects to be finished before we leave, how short time is getting, and how little is getting done in/to the house with all of us sick. We can't even have contractors in for another week to give estimates, much less schedule work.

This morning's box was packing clothes out of the closet that I'm sure I can get along without until they are unpacked in our new space up north. Winter things. Long sleeves, long pants, shirts with warm collars, sweatchirts. So-o-o-o many sweatshirts! It's been a hassle to get into the back corner of the closet on that side - how I divide up my closet, cold vs. hot weather clothes - that I've been amazed at how much I really have. I have to get through the rest of AZ "winter", head home through mountains for what may be last visits with relatives, thus take extra days in high altitudes in still early spring, and probably do it with a hamper full of dirty clothes that will get packed that way as well. 

Even when (if?)  I get the closet finished to the point where it is winnowed down to a packable/wearable remnant to travel with, there will be a whole bunch in boxes. Plural, boxes. I still haven't figured out what to do with all the hangers for them, though I might just stick them in very sturdy plastic bags in large bunches and tape them closed, to be tossed in the PODS or whatever we move them in, into whatever spare pockets of room are available. We just bought more hangers a couple months back, the extra thick, sturdy plastic ones that won't droop under heavy jeans or even blankets across the bottom bar. They take up a lot of room, but don't sag creating wrinkles, or break when the clothing on them drags across the next garment in a packed closet.

Packing them all is daunting. I asked Steve to make me a promise. If he ever sees me pick up another copy of my favorite clothing company's catalogue to do anything other than recycle it, he's to tell me I have plenty of clothes now. Just because they're having a 75% off sale, or carry the comfiest clothes I've yet found, or have styles I'm OK wearing in colors I like, or their knit slacks have drawstring waists so I can change sizes and still wear them out eventually because they'll still fit, not stretch, and not drop off for two or three years....

Don't let me buy any more.

Promise me.

Please.

The Bitter Worm In The Big Pharma Apple

Friday:

There is an odd thing about brain fog from covid. You think you're getting better as it eases slightly, but don't realize you're not well yet. I called the doc back this morning because I forgot yesterday, when talking to them to cancel an upcoming appointment because it falls within my period of contagion. 

Duh!

If that wasn't enough, feeling slightly better this morning, when I did finally cancel that appointment, I forgot to add, until the "Anything else we can help you with?" that I couldn't get my Paxlovid yesterday at the pharmacy, explained it's price and not being covered, and did anybody in the office know of some help for that? 

They'll check and call me back. 

I've been increasingly annoyed with my medication insurance, aka Part D of Medicare, get-your-own-and-good-luck. Last year they increased my deductible to the point where I still got no coverage by year end. I guess the good news is that I didn't need medications which brought me out of the deductible. But they also raised their prices to the point where my increase in SS, which my premiums comes out of, was barely anything. It might cover a Whopper Junior should I choose to get one, now that I have switched to the juniors those rare times I feel like a burger because who really needs the big one? I think I bought two last year. They are tasty.

But my insurance won't pay a penny towards Paxlovid. And unlike other Medicare charges, they do not draw a line above which the provider may not charge. Big Pharma is an unlimited gaping hole of greed. Ask people who have been charged $800 for an epi-pen, or who, until recently regulated, Thank You Joe, had to pay outrageous prices for insulin. Those things do not simply improve lives, they save them. You literally die without them. You must have them.

But now that we "no longer have a state of emergency" with covid (never mind that 1500 people - as announced this week, up from 300 - are dying in this country from it every week !!!!) the government is not picking up the cost of Paxlovid. The price for the five day treatment is over $1,100. Both Rich's insurance and Steve's paid for theirs. I happen to make a bit more money, and don't quite qualify. Don't equate that with rich enough to pay for that dose. Funny thing is, last time I had covid, it was free. It was effective. 2nd time around with covid, or third, gives it a chance to do more damage, risking long covid among other things.

The science has been done, and the government paid for it. So it is easy to assume that nearly all of that cost is profit, for whom better to gouge than vulnerable people afraid of dying in a horrible fashion, struggling for every breath, locked away from family, and too sick to either think clearly or raise the effort to fight to do so? Since most of the most vulnerable of us, being elderly (a comorbidity in itself) and have accumulated a lot of various illnesses along our way,  are often on limited incomes, likely have gone through any savings they've had dealing with all those comorbidities which make them vulnerable, their vulnerabilities often mean covid is a fast track to the cemetery. Paxlovid does a great job of putting the brakes on the virus, enough so the body can adequately finish the job. It needs to be used early, preferably as soon as the positive test after the first symptoms.

Ironically, those comorbidities requiring the medicine are keeping Big Pharma afloat. Healthy people don't need cardiac meds, blood pressure meds, insulin, oxygen tanks, strong allergy treatments, chemotherapy, cures for diseases few of us have ever heard of. So making their prices unreachable means they're likely killing off their customer base. One has to ask why.

*     *     *     *     *

Another note on comorbidities: for the first time there is a disease out there which is picking off people more by one political persuasion. Being a Republican is becoming a comorbidity! People living in so-called red states, who identify as Republicans, are dying in greater numbers than others. They are the extreme ones who tend to avoid vaccines, believing after the injection they can be followed due to mysterious imaginary contents in them while never realizing their cell phones and even their cars already give their location away and there is no need for such impossible technology. They tend to avoid known working medicines, and eschew much science. They are the ones dying in hospitals, unvaccinated, never masked, demanding the parasitic worm killer Ivermectin for treating a virus, which is absolutely NOT a worm, or taking a treatment for a totally different disease but not for covid and incidentally harming people needing that medicine by creating a sudden scarcity, and other nonsense. They are the people who with their dying breaths demand to know what they really have because it can't be covid. Why? Because the disease has been made political. It shouldn't be. Germs don't care what we believe, just what is a good host to multiply in. I love my Republican relatives as much as my Democratic ones. I'd love to know they get their shots and give them to their kids as recommended. I'd love to know they have even the most rudimentary knowledge of science, especially about health. I'd love them to live longer and continue voting, no matter for whom.

*     *     *     *     *

Saturday

They did call back that afternoon, asked a bunch of questions about how I was doing now after my first doses of the meds I did get. The fever was down and I was feeling less ill, deluding me into thinking the brain fog wasn't an issue. That is, until writing this and doing other things that required a brain. Editing reveals a lot about true function! I will ask kindness in excusing whatever I may have missed. It also means proofing to the point where I would publish it without shame carried over into Saturday. Who needs sleep? Getting this finished and as right as possible is keeping me awake. It's as bad as mentally creating the next new piece of glass or jewelry. Write something down so you can sleep!

Steve has his Paxlovid now, even though he can't pronounce it. It's OK, he  only needs to take it, and I developed a system that fits in exactly with how he takes his other pills now. It's not the pronunciation, it's the math, as in the right numbers of extra pills in the right places, and that's been done now... with corrections. But done. His insurance covered his, which is good, since he was still feeling sicker after getting his than I still have felt without it.

Oh yeah, I was interrupting myself talking about my docs helpfulness. The verdict is I can get along without the Paxlovid. Don't have to spend all the money. Unless... I get worse. I should call them, even though it will be a weekend. A holiday one. If it's really, really worse, go to the ER, but the regular docs assure me that they can call back quickly (enough) and assess unless it's very sudden, like sudden breathing issues. Then Steve or Rich can call an ambo, one hopes. Three little numbers. Keep the phones charged. The real  question if things devolve is who can drive? Rich can't. Steve could before he got sick, but then? We'd have to see. He certainly couldn't go to his pharmacy last night to get his own meds. So I went.

Yep, "responsible" me, infectious with covid, went to his pharmacy. Masked of course, And with a soothing cough drop to avoid coughing in hopes of limiting spreading. Somebody had to.  He needed chicken noodle soup too.  And his own cough drops, as I'm getting low on the sugarless ones, which I can order delivered in two days. But I need them myself during those days. His pharmacy doesn't stock the sugarless ones. He doesn't need to worry about sugar rotting his teeth like I do with a cough drop tucked in my cheek as I fall asleep. There's usually a tiny bit left in the morning, a long time if for sugar contact. No, they don't move in the night and try to choke me. I think the cheek/drop contact kinda dries it out and the drop sticks.

So it's a waiting game. I'm thinking about packing, but that's work right now, so I'm thinking I should stick to my faulty thinking. Does less damage if I only think about it than act on it. Or is that some faulty thinking too? Maybe let's stop thinking too. At all. Magic wand time.......

While Waiting...

The procedure is over. Now is the wait for results. It is also the days ahead of still feeling lousy. My gut hates food after two days of clear liquids and chemicals. Might be yogurt time, if I felt like heading to the store. Oh wait, I still have some. Frankly, I feel like staying in bed, or at least in my recliner which keeps my head elevated and me off my bad shoulder.

I have observations on yesterday. It opened with me pouring more chemical through my system starting  after midnight. But please note that I wasn't to have anything to drink except "a sip" with my required morning pills for 6 hours before the procedure, and showing up time was 6 AM. I was still popping into the restroom for the first half hour after I reached the hospital... and popping in... and popping in....  Who designs these procedures? Aren't we supposed to have stopped by now? At least the beds are well equipped with large pads covering, and the staff is reassuring that they are familiar with the consequences of the prep.

Steve was allowed to drop me off, go home, and return to pick me up, rather than park, walk in, find the hospital's version of a chair, then get up and walk all the way down the halls to the other end of the building to the day surgery center, sit on hospital chairs again, hike half a block to a restroom if he needed one, then back again, and on and on. I just explained on the phone he didn't walk well but he could drive. Since they wouldn't let me drive after anesthesia, they compromised from their policy of "must be on site" for their drivers.

I arrived at the hospital wearing a surgical mask. It's what I do. I wear them in the club most days because the kiln paper dust shouldn't be inhaled. It turns to fine dust in kiln temperatures and cleaning it off is part of the process. So, no big deal, with a mask. Otherwise, think worse-than-asbestos for your lungs. But notice that Covid, flue, and RSV are rampant at the moment. Also note this is Arizona. I saw all kinds of people in the hospital, security guards first, giving directions, other patients and/or visitors,  staff dealing with checking patients in, more to wheel us down the labyrinth of hallways so we don't get lost as an excuse to be late to our whatevers. In all the entire morning I saw not one other mask. 

When I got into the pre-surgical unit, where my data gets gone over, needles get poked... and poked... and poked again (apparently the third person knew how to actually do it), clothing is removed along with my medic alert bracelet and glasses, a "gown" is donned which is guaranteed to be neither suitable for a ball nor have any capability for warmth. If one is very lucky some kindly nurse will recall that there actually are heated blankets in the room and fetch one, in the silly belief that one is enough to keep one's body comfortable under the circumstances. Three might do it. I didn't get a chance to find out.

The lack of masks seemed to be a theme there as well. They "let" me keep mine on, until surgery started. They needed access to my mouth and nose to be sure I was successfully breathing during the process. There were delays. First, my surgeon went to the wrong Banner Hospital, the one 20 minutes away, longer in rush hour traffic. Word had spread through the unit, and most of us got a chuckle out of it. The guy behind the curtain next to me was told the same thing I was. He was in line behind me. I didn't hear him laugh. Of course there is no privacy there, and if one gets up to hit the bathroom while waiting, everybody along the path can see the patients they've been listening to. Perhaps they hope that the coming anesthesia will block a clear memory.

Meanwhile I just laid there and got cold. I figured to expect that, but still it wasn't that fun. The only entertainment was either eavesdropping or looking at the ceiling tiles which somebody with little talent had painted every so often to give those of us in bed something to look at. I figured they were some school class's project. Say, elementary school. My bed's area had some kind of winged bug with two legs and  four wings, each wing a different color pattern. The two feet on the legs were round balls in yet another color. The other side of the aisle had some kind of a leafless tree with green bark and only one branch, blue clouds in a white sky with back eyes and smiley mouths under them.  Under, not in. Maybe the artist(s?) were somebody's young relatives from the unit?

Eventually it was time to get wheeled into the room for my surgery. I met my surgeon for the first time ever, along with a couple of assistants of indeterminate duties. The 4th person was my anesthesiologist, with whom I'd had a long conversation back in the getting-ready room with lots of reassurance from her of her attentiveness during the entire procedure. A few minutes later I had heard the exact same speech one curtain over, with the guy waiting in line behind me. I watched her inject something into my IV and we conversed while I waited for it to take effect....

And woke up in post op. My shoulder didn't hurt. Somebody had rolled me over so the bad one was up and I was lying on the better one. Note I don't say "good" one. I was fully alert, listening and watching the activity around me. I had questions, just not the will to bother anybody enough to ask them.What time was it? What did they find? Had they called Steve yet? Hey people, I'm cold here! I still hadn't seen a single staffer with a mask, including the surgeon. Maybe they donned them once I was under, like it was supposed to be reassuring to see full faces? My gown had a chest pocket and they'd tucked my mask in there so I got it out again. After several more minutes I asked  for a heated blanket. It's delivery was prompt, but I was still chilled, and stayed chilled for a couple hours, even home under a blanket. Maybe they believe you're not cold until you get it together enough to ask for a blanket. Hogwash! It's when you still can't ask that you really need it.

In a bit I was told to get dressed but forbidden to stand up in case of a fall. That seemed reasonable at the time. I hadn't thought about how to put on pants yet. I'd need help with getting clothes past the bad shoulder, but by the time I got there I was communicating again, and people were helpful. My wheelchair ride to the front entrance was by the same guy who brought me up to this unit, so we exchanged pleasantries up to the point where he opened the passenger side car door for me to get in. He was already needed elsewhere.

I still hadn't seen a mask besides my own. You think I'm harping on this? I have, after all, had my latest covid, flue, and RSV shots, but as we know, or should, they do not totally protect one, just make whatever one comes down with more tolerable, with luck. After Steve stopped for fast food breakfast, got us home, and we were sitting in the living room for a bit, Rich decided to let us know that his covid test from the previous evening had been positive.

Nice to know! What timing!

Where he sleeps is cold. So while he was trying to wake up a bit, I emptied the living room couch, brought his pillow and a pair of down comforters out for him, and spent the next hour working to get him into a warm space. He was totally miserable. It took several reminders to prod him into that much activity. Steve donned his mask, and I returned mine to my face. Once Rich was in motion he also wore one. By then I decided he was sick enough - and unvaccinated for the latest version - that he needed to go to the ER to get Paxlovid. Steve was in a lot of pain by then, so I decided I'd drive. I was feeling clear headed by then, or would have called for an ambulance. I needed to fill the tank on my way back home anyway, as the light had come on while Steve was trying to keep warm in the parking lot waiting for me. We'd been told he needed to be there at 9 AM. Obviously that was delayed. I still have no idea by how much. He'd tried to conserve gas, not knowing how much of a tank was left once the light came on so the car had been cold. Rich and I appreciated having the heat on full bore heading to the ER. By then the sun was helping too. We agreed Rich would have them call me to pick him up when he needed to go home. I'd get gas and return to my comfy chair to wait.

It took about an hour to get the call. Details came much later. It turns out they tried to throw him out of the ER. Why was he there? They didn't even know if the hospital pharmacy had any Paxlovid. Eventually they called him into the triage offices, confirmed his test results, and got him his meds. I brought him home.

As the day progressed, I was getting more and more chilled, and finally self-diagnosed a fever. Uh-oh. We'd all been masked in the house since Rich came into the warm zone. I tried the goofy digital thermometer we have, and got a reading of 31-point-something. WTF? I hit the button on the top and tried to figure out how to get something that made sense, but no go. Well, time to confront worst case, and go take one of the covid tests we still have. I have both taken and supervised those things several times, but had to really concentrate to get through the steps. Like all my other tests, when it was positive, it was so almost immediately. No need to wait 15 minutes, though I did. It's still positive this morning, not having changed with the passage of time. I'm addressing the fever, staying home - so far - and trying to figure out how to get my Paxlovid. I guess the ER is out, considering how they treated Rich. (Maybe if he'd walked in with a snazzy haircut and a suit?) My primary doc's clinic opens at 8:30, the earliest I can call, but while waiting I can call my pharmacy to see if they stock the stuff. I tried last night but they'd just closed. I though they were open till 9. When did that happen?

Meanwhile, I'm wondering if it's worth my time to call the hospital and let them know my unknown condition yesterday. Obviously, had I known, I'd have rescheduled the procedure after waiting to get it to happen for over a year, and despite the annoying two days of prep. As it is, I have to reschedule a different appointment once offices open. They're the ones who should have known to wear masks, right? I did, on a just-because basis. Are they taking it so glibly these days?

Morning After:

While writing this, my pharmacy opened, the person on the phone, once one finally breaks through their reluctant voicemail system which tries, no matter what you request, to send you online, went from "I don't know if we have Paxloved" to "Yes, we have it but you need a prescription". Well of course! I just wanted to know where to tell my doc to send the prescription, speed the process up. I'll know this afternoon or maybe tonight if he's sent it through, providing the pharmacy puts it together lickety split. Meanwhile, time for more Tylenol. Fever is climbing again.

Excuse

I thought about a detailed rendition of what's going on right now, the double colonoscopy prep, two days wedded to the throne, the nasty flavors, the dreams about eating forbidden foods while in the dreams knowing they were forbidden, the increasing pile of dirty laundry, the cramps, the craziness of it all. It's my world for three days, actually, and you really do not want to hear about it. 

So I'll spare you the details. Just enjoy whatever food you get to eat these days, and I'll try not to think about your days the way you don't want to think about mine.

Ending Another Year In Haiku

For those following me for a while, you are familiar with my copying another blogger's tradition of  ending the year in haiku. That person is The Rude Pundit, a very political blogger, and easy to locate here on Blogspot. Spoiler alert: he takes his rudeness seriously, so if you prefer to avoid that kind of language, however funny and well targeted it is, perhaps take a pass, or at least read him while the kiddies are elsewhere. This is the only time I ever think of doing haiku, and long winded as I am, find it an interesting challenge to sum up ideas in 5,7, and 5 syllables. Especially when they're all politics.

 It’s been a hot year.
So much worse will be coming
I weep for the young.

The ice was our friend.
Our glaciers locked up methane
But we turned it loose.

Oceans will die first
But we'll party uncaring here
Until no more shrimp.

The R’s grow fascist.
They must pretend  we’re much worse.
Will it work this time?

Throw Don in prison.
Time to keep his voice silent.
Make this country sane.

The fetus at all costs!
Until it’s born and breathing.
Then “Welcome cruel world.”

What you didn’t want:
Haiku Extravaganza!
Will repeat next year.

But We're Not Recycling That

Packing has resumed after a pause. In the meantime other stuff has been happening. New hinges have been ordered and arrived, so the hall pantry doors, once removed for painting and briefly won't swing back and boink me, can finally shut properly. While the doors are off, I can pull non-food items out and pack those, at least the ones which won't be used soon like napkins, paper towels and garbage bags, or left because they go with the house, like the special chandelier bulbs. Lordy, do we have garbage bags! And lordy, will they get used in the next two months!

The framed pictures are off the walls. They've been waiting for the right sized box, which we now have, thanks to seeing a new refrigerator being unloaded next door and asking the truck driver for its box. They've been waiting for spare cardboard to pack between pieces too, which we also have in abundance thanks to those same new neighbors, ready to relieve their garage of stacks of empty once-used boxes. They actually bought a bunch of them for their move, and now are giving them away. Their end goal is parking one of their vehicles in their garage. In turn, the boxes have been waiting for a box cutter, since ours disappeared a few years back. I finally went shopping when there was an employee in the store who knew where they were kept and had the keys to unlock their anti-shoplifting case. The one I bought comes with 5 extra blades. It should last long enough to turn a lot of those large boxes into sheets of cardboard, both to separate the pictures and take up space to fill the box so things don't heave back and forth in transit. This I needed stronger packing tape for,  so I ordered that. A short wait for it to arrive was minor. The packing peanuts I also ordered, 8 cubic feet, non-static, took a month. Glad I ordered those ahead of time. 

Do I sound like I'm full of excuses? So be it.

Those packing boxes from next door have two more advantages. One is wide and long enough to pack Steve's walleye mount in while on its driftwood. Separating the two is NOT an option. Plus, more importantly, it will have plenty of room for packing peanuts to fit in around it and keep it safe on the trip. Or at least that's what the guys announced one night. They're the ones who measured, or at least I assumed they did. I'll have to pack it first, now before I start cutting up other big boxes for the pictures. We'll miss it on the wall for a few months, but it will be nice having it properly packed.

Another box is tall enough to pack my X-mas tree in, the one I made for the contest last year in the club, which won. While it is short for a tree, it is fastened to its stand in one piece and has to stay vertical. It was our only tree this year, the old artificial white one going away in our last garage sale. Meanwhile Rich came up with a stand for Steve's bubbler lights, and I've promised Steve we'll get a new artificial tree in the new place. That box also contains the wreath of giant jingle bells for the front door and those bubbler lights, though one of the strings will be tossed and the lights kept as spares. The insulation on the cord is so old that when I took them down I noticed bare wires showing. I'm thinking we got really lucky there! In a way it's a good thing to have to toss it, because we had two more lights broken this year and the only one I found for sale cost $35 plus ridiculous shipping , and there's no way I will ever buy a bulb for over $50.00! Not a whole string, even! Just because the seller claimed it was antique does not make it worth it. I just bought more strings about 20 some years ago. I want to believe they will be out on the market again some time, despite tiny LEDs being popular. But I have no guarantees. So we needed to  give them extra special packing care, meaning that box also had to wait for the packing peanuts.

The reasons for getting the non static kind are not just that I hate unpacking a box and finding them stuck all over me, but for the next job they have: my second laptop, and the printer which it's the only computer programmed for. It's an old one, that laptop, even older than this one from 2013, but so's the printer, workhorse that it remains. I have a couple papers to update and print out first. Then in a box they go, with cords, toner, paper tray, stray discs which that computer still reads, and packing peanuts. The reams of paper are already packed in a small but very heavy box.

I trust that the 8 cubic feet will last for the job. X-mas is already packed. but that only took about a foot of them.  The walleye comes next as that's the most fragile of them. The printer comes last because if I run out there are lots more packing materials and box fillers around if fragile isn't your top concern. For example, Steve and I will be pulling clothing out of our closets to use. I figure we can get by for a few months on about half the winter and half the summer things we have here, plus once we get north again, what's been left there so we have much less to haul in the car each way. There will be even more room for clothes in the car this last trip because there's no dog who needs both her supplies and room to move around in during the trip. Even so, clothes will need to be packed for shipping, so why not around, say, kitchen ware? We'll plan much better to buy just what we'll eat that last month or so, plus some staples for the road like water and dried foods. We have collapsible stackable crates, heavy duty, which are a perfect fit in the car, and once those are loaded we have bunches of reusable heavy shopping bags to stuff more soft goods in to fill the car nearly to the top. Even with a dog we do that every trip.  Anyway, an extra dozen sweat shirts. pants, blouses, and so forth can wrap around kitchen ware, extra mugs, bowls, measuring cups, pans used twice a year, etc..

There's also the need to go through all the paper we no longer need, like old medical and financial documents. When I was still working, each year's records filled an expanding file folder. Once I ran out of those, rather than buy more for less reason since I was no longer needing to file but still keeping records, the records were stored in plastic bags. It's time to cull, and that means getting rid of certain numbers one doesn't want spread indiscriminately through the world for identity theft. Steve has a shredder. An actual, working shredder. We also have lots of paper sacks as well as plastic ones. This past week Steve has filled two sacks worth of home-made excelsior. I had him put it in paper sacks so we could put it to the curb on recycling days, since our regular container is nearly always overfilled already. Then I figured it was great packing material, so long as its' in a container giving it form, like a huge zipper bag or a tie-able grocery store bag, depending on the empty space needing to be filled. 

My peanuts were late arriving by two weeks from stated arrival date, and I was getting impatient. So, just after going around behind Steve and picking up all the little single pieces which had fallen on the floor, since his back hates bending that far for long enough to do the job, now I was making new messes transferring the excelsior to new closeable plastic bags for better use. Some will go under the walleye on both ends to keep it more horizontally balanced over the driftwood during shipping. Tilting as peanuts shifted would not be helpful. No, we're not recycling the excelsior, or at least not yet. Once we can unpack, then we'll work it out. I'll make sure to keep and pack the flattened stack of paper bags for the end of the move. Those can be hard to come by these days.

So the Credit Union Merged ...

My credit union is back in MN. I left my account there when we moved for simplicity. Changing all that is a royal pain. My social security goes in, my bills come out, I almost never have to write a check any more, and when I get one to deposit, my credit union has a "sister" credit union now about 4 miles past my pharmacy and there is some familiar shopping along the way. 

So we've been getting warnings for a few months now that my long time credit union would be merging with another in MN and... things would change. I say warning because change is never simple, and some things will be better at the end, one hopes, and others not so much, most likely. We got actual snail mail notices of how, for each of us, certain procedures and regulations would be changing. Both sets of customers are win-some, lose-some. Life goes on. Banking goes on.

I've been with "my" old credit union since the mid 80s. It was offered to those of us who worked either as independent contractors or employees, and I grabbed the chance to have that kind of stability and reduced bank fees. They really were much better than any bank I had the displeasure of doing business with, and there were times things were set up so I had to do business with other banks. When I moved to AZ I needed some kind of services, and got an account at a then-sister institution. They had lots more fees, so that didn't last long. 

I had Steve and his bank do certain transactions for me, and put lots of things in the mail back to MN. My credit union cut off their ties to the one down here, and after a couple years, allied with a different one, which has been a pleasure to use. Or at least until they closed on Saturdays. I just had to learn to plan better, no biggie. But Steve's national chain bank didn't like me. It was mutual. They tried to get me to join. No deal. I liked my credit union, and their bank was growing something of a bad reputation.They wouldn't let me endorse a check to Steve written on their bank so he could deposit it in his account. Then they insisted I could cash checks written to me from their bank - since that's also the bank the club used to pay me for sales - but not without two forms of ID.  OK, I have all kinds of ID. I'm just not giving you my credit card. I have photo ID to drive, a voter ID card, a concealed carry permit, a bunch of membership ID cards. I refused to let them have access to my credit card info. It was their own bank check after all. What did they do with customers who came in to cash their checks who didn't happen to have any credit cards? Weren't their own checks any good?

Over  the months this battle went on, I occasionally took my check and spent it in the club's supply room. The club knew it was fine. I didn't bother with the battle and mostly sent those checks north. But occcasionally I armed myself for battle and went back. What second form of ID did they need that wasn't a credit card? After all this bank was having major, even newsworthy, problems with people accessing accounts who weren't supposed to, including their own employees. One teller walked away from her station, consulted with a boss, and came back with the need for a second ID card to have an expiration date. OK, here's my AARP card. It expires in a year and three months.

They still wouldn't cash the check.

When I became club president, I was also the second (emergency) signer on club checks, in case of our  treasurer being unable for some reason to sign them. I also sign checks from the club to her. This meant I went with her into the bank, sat down and filled out forms putting me into their system. Guess what form of ID they still didn't get? They had to take me as a signer anyway. I asked would they let me now come in and cash a check from their bank from an account which I was a registered signer on?

They hemmed and hawed and "well, maybe..." a few times, but I never got a definite answer. It's been two years and I've never set foot back in that bank. By then my MN credit union joined in a relationship with a different credit union in this area and they are always happy to see me, helpful as they can be, and aside from my driver's license never need ID, just take in any checks I may have and send them on up north or dish out cash if requested. We laugh about the ones for $1.10 from my pharmacy from an overcharge somebody discovered, but never questions would they take it.

Since I'm no longer president of the club, I have no special status at that bank, and can't be bothered to test my privileges. I have no need.

Something else happened on the 1st. As should be expected, there are glitches in the merger. I went to check my balance this afternoon before paying a bill online. I couldn't log in. I double checked my info - name and password - and it still was wrong. Not wanting to risk getting blackballed on my third "strike", I opted for "forgot my password", though knowing full well it had been perfect both times. This time it didn't recognize me at all. I'm not even me.

OK then, I made a phone call. I've done a lot of bank business via phone over the years. As expected I got put on hold. Yep, busy, probably with more glitches like mine. 17 minutes and 23 seconds later I got disconnected. Did I get frustrated? Actually, no. I figured the staff was having the week from hell right now. I didn't really need to pay that bill till a couple weeks out, and by then my SS will be there, my balance should be high,  and a whole lot of people's problems should be fixed. I do have a check to be deposited in a couple days or so at the sister credit union, and checked last month that my 9 digit institution number and  my account number should remain identical, despite getting a new name for the merged credit unions. So I won't worry till that becomes a problem. THEN they'll hear from me! Meanwhile I might check in after a few days to see how hard it is to log in, and maybe even sit on hold again for a while. If I don't need to add to the staff's problems, I won't. They've been great for decades.