Hoarfrost

 Another gift of a cold climate, usually a preface to winter, but still showing the previous season's life, is hoarfrost. Some years we get some, others... well.... say what? These are a compilation of several years past.

It can hang from thin branches still holding catkins snuggled up tight for the following spring when they unfold and fly, starting new lives in neglected spaces.

It can hang from still-green leaves and undropped pickable fruits, like highbush cranberries, just an accent to shout, "We're still here!"

 It can find blossom petals clinging to coneflowers to wrest every iota of warmth and growth before season end, putting it to its long sleep.

It can cover the upper extensions of a cedar branch, and once done, leave it still green to decorate all our seasons for years to come.

It can decorate the dead opened seed pods that were long overlooked but now a multidimentional work of art, pointing out every curve, hollow, niche...

but only now can you see how different is it from its neighbor.

 

It can draw your eye to the sky with its subtle tricks with the light.

But every so often it clings to flat bare places, growing out from them unpatterned to revel in its own heretofore hidden glory!

Minnesota Winter Ice

I used to get out and about for work early, regardless of the weather, the snow, the ice, what have you. Sometimes I'd pop right back into the house, grab a camera, and steal myself a few extra minutes to get somewhere. It's a love-hate relationship with winter , though after snowbirding for over 10 years, more hate than love these days. I suppose an older body also has something to do with that. Back then there was also the fact that early morning light, or night-lit scenes, often had more to say to my eye.

The sun rising across the street was great for making ice on ice/snow stand out. Our entryway back then formed icicles at the end of the gutter down spouts, shortened once the long drain tube was removed. Or maybe it just fell and broke in the cold, or was simply moved. Who remembers? One year several icicles dropped off, standing up in the drift made by shoveling the driveway. 

My bedroom window also faced the sunrise. Being in the more humid indoors, sometimes the cold even came through from the storm window and Jack Frost had some fun.

A few minutes later, a different slice of glass, a new photo begged for attention. They seemed to be thick, beaded if you will, so I guess it was humid, either inside or outside. I wasn't about to open any windows to try to find out, just enjoy the differences.

Other mornings, different conditions while I slept, and new formations appeared. 

 

There were times I had to head outside to the car and find out what had been painted on them while I slept. Yes, some of you will remember my car always had to be white. But I got a deal on a slightly used model which wasn't. I got clearance from corporate to drive it as a temporary if I got it painted as soon as weather allowed. Meanwhile more fun ensued, looking like snowflakes in design rather than frost.

Obviously this is neither my red or newly white car. I have no clue who drove this one or what it was, though my best guess would be something my son drove. He was going through a lot of different cars back then. Snowbanks, deer, raccoons, or whatever,  seemed to really hate vehicles he drove. (Yeah, I'm going to stick with that excuse. He's a really good guy. Sometime in the far distant future he may actually read this.)   Anyway, something spent a lot of time forming these,very 3D in reality.

Alaskan Ice

OK, I've been sitting here bored and frustrated by the cold, both outside the front door, and the cold clinging to making my body as miserable as possible. I can't/won't try to get out with my camera and find something to shoot. But I can sit in a warm. cozy recliner digesting breakfast, and between coughing fits go through photos and pull out some to share. It's winter here, but I sure can find the same (kind of) thing from old summer shots from a long ago trip to Alaska(2007) with my youngest son and my granddaughter. These date back to my very first digital camera, the only reason I still have them. Actual paper photos had to be purged by the wastebasket-ful for the last move as all the colors had shifted and/or vanished.

You'll never get this photo again. It's Exit Glacier, then at its foot, showing that lovely blue of deep pressurized ice among the accumulations of dirt from age.  I saw a recent photo and it keeps living up to its name, exiting back up the mountain slope it used to descend from. Even on the hike in, wayyyy back in those days, we passed sign after sign as we left the parking lot showing to what point the glacier had covered back in which year. It was a long - but flat - hike back then. Now it climbs way past this point, and had almost vanished at the very top in that recent photo.

One of our adventures was rafting down a river to Turnagain Arm where chunks of old glacier were breaking off and floating with us. Our rafts each had a guide keeping us safe. I liked this one because the foreground ice looks like a long eared dog enjoying some sun. The blue in each piece indicates the thickness of the formerly glacial ice, much larger than our rafts, though the "dog" was just a bit larger, except for its flat surround, mostly hidden underwater, as floating ice is.

A boat trip out from Seward took us along the Kenai Fjords coast to see, among many other delights, a glacier actively calving. It did so often enough that eventually I caught one huge chunk just hitting the water with a  big splash. We stayed far enough back that our boat got a gentle rocking from the spreading wave. A couple smaller private boats were more stupid but apparently survived. Our captain would have had to react if they hadn't.There were many glaciers along the way that no longer reached the ocean, and I doubt this one still does, but it was well worth a very expensive side trip.

The glacier melt has to go somewhere, and when it's not directly into the ocean, it forms what are called "braided rivers".  This high viewpoint my granddaughter shot gives a better picture than from along the road. The grey land  was "recently" scraped of vegetation by the weight and movement of the glacier which sat on it.

Bush planes are a staple of Alaskan transportation. One can, on clear days, mostly in summer only very early in the mornings, get a great view of mountain near the ocean. If memory serves, knowing where we flew, Cook Inlet is on the back side of these from our perspective, and this kind of view is quickly smothered by clouds and fog. The flight, if one is willing to rise early enough for it, rewards you with this very rare summer view:

Mount Denali! No matter what somebody else calls it, this is Denali!  Out the airplane window of course, and over the wing, but for this you take them where you can get them. Ten minutes later we were in clouds and stayed there until we landed just outside the Park for a guided bus excursion. In two visits to the park, this is the only time I saw the mountain it was named for. Usually when you ask your guide where it is, they point to a cloud bank and say it's off in that direction... maybe. (I guess they tend to sleep in as late as they can in the mornings.)

Note: this is also my granddaughter's picture. I archived her Alaskan trip photos on my computer way back then, later giving her a thumb drive with all of hers. You can tell the difference at a glance because my camera shot rectangles and hers shot squares. She sat in front of the plane with the pilot and caught a much better view than I did.

 

Fun With Deliveries

Do you catch a whiff of sarcasm with "fun"?

This morning a Fed Ex truck drove slowly by our home. OK, no biggie, they normally do that several times a day. So does Amazon. And repair companies. It happens to be a Sunday, which often translates into new or substitute driver. This Sunday also happens to be very cold with recent subsequent snowfalls covering most everything. Including my car, because with my cold I haven't been out to deal with it. I'm not even going to work to share my cold with somebody who doesn't need it. I did call Paul to come over to shovel for us a few days ago post another snowfall, but the current addition barely qualifies for removal. I'll have to head out later in the week for a drive into the metro for a doctor's appointment, but I still won't be digging out the car since Paul will be driving me. As clogged as my head is right now, and having seat belt issues, I'm relying on a different driver. I'll navigate, he'll drive, I'll pay for gas, and his company will pay him for using accumulated PTO. He's valued enough that they let him set his own hours, within reason. This is the shoulder surgeon so hopefully we may repeat this before too long.

All of that is by way of saying there was nothing near the street-facing steps off a tiny porc to indicate they were ever used. Almost enough snow covered them to disguise the step edges.  FedEx knows to bring packages to the covered porch, where the sidewalk and steps are walkable. They are supposed to have that information as part of our address. The regular drivers do it without question. 

They are also supposed to take a photo of the delivery site, send an email, ring the doorbell so we know something happened. But stuff is supposed to land on the large porch platform, under the roof and where nobody inside has to figure out how to haul deliveries up stairs. Most stuff isn't that heavy these days, but when we do expect something heavy we arrange for assistance if needed. Most of that came just after we moved in when I could still handle it.

I got around to checking email around lunchtime. Head cold management these days requires a fair amount of regimen before facing the day, and I spent some time looking up arcane facts about OTC medications and side effects, among other things, first. Some emails had to be answered while I was thinking about them. I gifted myself with a bonus morning nap between breakfast and dressing. You know, all the various stuff that gets one ready for trying to cope with the day. 

Anyway, last thing on the email list was a notice of a delivery. By then I was dressed for keeping warm and comfortable inside, not for the cold or being seen publicly outside. These days that's a 10 minute job... on a good day, when Steve is around to help with  getting extra upper layers pulled on and adjusted.  Cloth has an amazing amount of friction you don't notice until you need to. Before  going to that trouble, I poked my head out the front door to see what had been delivered - I just might take one step, pick up a tiny something, and pop back in again.

Nothing was there.  ???

I glanced down towards the street and there were huge boxes stacked alongside the driveway, not even on the steps, much less at the top of the platform, however covered in snow. OK then, start the routine. Who the heck ordered what this time? I knew we were waiting for a variety of packages, some for months now and likely stuck in customs somewhere... or totally lost and money wasted. There was also a box of boots for winter Steve ordered, though when he checked back on the order details last week they said they filled the order with size 6 instead of size 10 boots! When that arrives he's to take it straight back to the PO and refuse it. Supposedly they'll either refund his money or send the  correct size. Who knows these days? 

There is also a small box I'm waiting for, likely via the post office, for an unusual tree ornament from Smithsonian for somebody on my gift list. I had to call them yesterday to see what happened. I ordered it in early October, ready to wait through the shutdown for it, but I was starting to wonder where it was. After a pleasant chat with somebody in a supervisory position, they had no record of my order, though they had my delivery address and phone number in their records, and showed the last 4 of my credit card that was used. Nothing else.  I asked if they were informing me I'd simply made a donation to them last fall? I'm not saying they don't deserve it, but I did want to find out what was where and why. Was it ever coming? Did I have to reorder? I'd almost forgotten the order after all this time, but the same ad has been in their magazine for the last three issues, reminding me. Since it was identical, I had the item number, price, and description, along with their phone number. It's been so long I didn't have a confirmation number - if one was ever sent via email. I checked my various email boxes. Nada. I did have the old credit card charge for that price, giving me the date of the charge, but it didn't have any tax added or shipping costs. It hadn't occurred to me to miss those at the time I called that order in. Or since. Life got a bit too interesting back then. The woman I was talking with promised to look into it further, since it was a combination of my proof of payment and their their total lack of record. I wonder how many other order glitches happened during early in the shutdown. Are they even finding out yet? Or were others, like me, exercising patience and only now figuring it was time to start asking questions?

I'd actually like to add the extra fees if needed - tax and shipping - and finish the order to get the gift. It is so perfect for the recipient. I might even consider a complete new order and consider the first a donation. (Would that screw up their accounting? Awwwwww. I pity the tax accountants.... sort of.)

All of this was being considered while I was getting dressed for the cold. I've totally lost track of what's been ordered, what is likely sitting down some rabbit hole in some port thanks to tariff confusion, what might still be expected to appear, "popping" into existence as if borne by some genie. (Yeah, magic needed for that job by now!) When I got to "the" huge  box at the bottom of the other steps, I found it was really three boxes! At first look, one had morphed into two but then became three.  THREE? OK, now I really wanted to see who had ordered what. Before any lifting, since all were heavy, I started checking labels. The smallest was definitely for us, so I carried it back and up the steps to where Steve was waiting for it, and handed it off. 

Then back to check out the really large and heavy ones. From my standing position, I had to read their labels upside down. Wheee. Wait...... uh-oh, weird name on the label, and no house number. Not ours then. We have close to 50 sub-addresses in our location. Still, our problem for a bit. I've seen boxes like these before in the mail area. Everybody who goes in for mail checks out large boxes left scattered on the floor when they don't fit in the lockers with a key left in with your paper mail. You never know, right? But the ones with no unit number tend to go to the big old house in the middle of us all, formerly the managers of the place, now still living there but having turned over management to a company. Their adult daughter I know since she mows our lawn weekly for us. We chat a bit while I hand over her pay, and I found out she was in teachers' ed this last year, now graduated, and last news was looking for a place to finish a term where a previous teacher had to step out, say, for a new baby. But a "real" job instead of mowing lawns. (Hey, mowing lawns is REAL WORK! Trust me!) Point is I have her phone number, so I explained the packages to her. No way would I be hauling them to their house - not even up our own stairs, thank you very much - but she'd send family over in their car to pick them up. Oddly enough the names on the label were just a bit off, both last names and even first, so she guessed which family member they might be for. Either way, a few minutes later the car pulled up, boxes went in the trunk, and they went to their house or were left in the mail area.

I returned to the FedEx email and saw they wanted feedback on their delivery.

Oh boy, was I ready.......!

Steve was impatient to open our real package. Once I heard it was obviously a Christmas present in a box that gave every indication of being food goodies,  and it being by now a bit past lunchtime, I sat and watched.  Oh my! We divvied up the things I currently can't eat and the things he can't eat, and after having a snack on the spot as a reward for our work, we put the rest in the fridge for the next few days. Really, food that good needs to be appreciated immediately! None of this nonsense about saving it for under the tree or something! Right? Some will be snacked on, some cut and added to yogurt, some cut and microwaved with cinnamon or honey....... YUMMM! 

(And thanks! Yes, I know you read this. )

Not Your Best Pick-up Line

Sometimes at mixers people just can't quite get it right.  Did he think he was being clever? Too nervous to say what he tried? I overheard this on TV:

 He:  Has anybody ever told you I have the most beautiful eyes?

She just turned away to talk with somebody else. It wouldn't leave me. There should have been a comeback.  Perhaps,  "Awwwww, no, but maybe someday you can pay someone a big enough bribe to actually get them to say that about you."

I Hate A Cold!

 Lucky me, I've avoided getting one for years. Yesterday I woke up in the middle of the night with an extremely sore throat, enough that my muddled mind started inventing causes for it. None of them made sense. I take that as a sign.

By morning it was a fairly normal sore throat, with the bonus that my voice had dropped a good octave. It was enough that anybody hearing me who knows me were immediately alerted to what's going on. Steve knew without my saying a more than "Good Morning". My PCA client over the phone immediately agreed that I should not visit her and share it - she has plenty of health issues without any assistance in acquiring more. My only concern there is there is up to a 3 day incubation, and I was there Monday, feeling fine, but possibly contagious. Or possibly I picked it up later.

There's the usual stuffy nose now, with kleenex boxes  in high demand. I'd shopped for a bunch over a year ago, and it finally looks like they will need replacing before the weekend. Of course there is a huge supply of fast-food napkins in the car door pockets I could grab, but it's DAMN FRICKING COLD! out there today, as cold as we're had since moving back north. The lakes are even iced over - lightly - but early. Probably safe for squirrels to walk on if they are stupid enough to emerge from snug nests, but everything else recently on it - swans and geese - has flown south. The throat isn't so sore, thankfully, but the voice is still low enough for gender confusion over the phone with a stranger.

Coughing has started, light so far. The good news there is I make a habit of stocking up on sugarless cough drops, and just opened the first of 4 bags this morning. There are still a couple of emptied pill bottles stuffed full of them for easy transport in a purse without spilling all over creation... but just currently not in my purse. Where? Sigh.  Our pharmacy provides fatter bottles for larger pills, great to reuse for cough drops, and ones I can actually open. It takes Steve's hands to open his pill bottles so I don't use them, except to dump collections of sharps in to throw out where they won't cause any problems. I have all kinds of uses for smaller pill bottles I can actually open, once the labels are peeled off.

On the plus side for this cold, I have been getting more sleep, eyes drooping earlier and opening later. Just to stay warm, and avoid struggling with my shoulders, my PJs currently are sweats and polar fleece, since without them plus a blanket I'm chilled and don't warm up. I'm sure they'll be rank by the time I'm ready to go out in public again, but that'll be a few days. I promise I'll change by then.

I have to call a few people I've had contact with the last couple of days, pre-symptoms, just for a warning. They are all younger and should brush it off without problems, but one is caring for a parent just post surgery and may wish to take precautions. I did give her a hug, after all.

Meanwhile I'm not even heading out to bring the recycle bin back from the street, despite strict rules here for doing so. There's a fresh inch of snow that fell yesterday and still sits on everything here including stairs and car, no footprints anywhere, so somebody might figure out we have a reason for leaving it another day or so.

Meanwhile this has been a 5 tissue, three cough drop post, and I'm ready for a nap.

A Different Kind Of A Problem

 This one is totally new to me. In all the years (29) where driving was my career as an independent contractor (IC) I bought so many cars new, straight off the lot that I've mostly lost track. The company I contracted with required undamaged vehicles, no rust, or any thing else which might give their customers reason to believe we weren't trustworthy. Their solution was to mandate replacement after 5 years. With the amount of driving I was doing, that often involved well over 300,000 miles on a vehicle. Total driving for the career was over 2 million. One car went to 400,000. I turned that car over to my sons, and one promptly rolled it. Oh well. His loss.

Minnesota attack deer took out a couple. The last replacement was after I got rear-ended by a school bus while I was stopped at a red light. (Go read Dec. 10, 2013 post for details. Or not.) School bus insurance companies have really good insurance! I still drive the replacement, 12 years later.

Cars age two ways, in my experience. One is accumulated damage, rendering them eventually undriveable. The other is the toll of age (without shelter). Rust, dust, sun, cold, wear on the parts... all get their chances to attack. A car can simply sit and eventually fall apart. This current car only had about 65,000 miles on it before I retired. After that, it went south in winter, north in summer, and otherwise did a whole lot of sitting and very short drives, whether in wet northern summers or in dusty southern winters. Haboobs and hot sun take their tolls, even if it spent ten years avoiding ice and snow. Arizona is hell on rubber. One result is oil leaks requiring expensive replacements. 

I'm not sure of the precise cause of the latest issue, whether something rusted, got gooped up, cracked, or what have you. My seat belt has been getting more and more difficult to click and release. The part coming from the frame by the door has gotten stubborn, requiring me to pull it out enough to slip my shoulder in it, then rock forward, unwinding a bit more belt, rock back to take up the slack, and repeat as long as necessary so I can pull the buckle pieces together. I'm sure anybody watching is thinking about some oversized butterfly nets for the crazy lady.

If that were the only issue, no biggee. But getting it into the buckle between the seats has gotten so difficult that (my bad shoulder of course) has a royal struggle getting it down in to latch. When I have Steve next to me, he can do it, but still with trouble. It does stay latched, and it is only a little less of an issue separating the parts again.

I called the dealership, asking for a price quote on replacing the two parts of the driver's belt. I'd read on line I should expect around $400 to $600 for the set. The dealership came back with $1000!!!!! Just for the driver's side!

No thanks!

Colder weather has settled in, making the  belt more of an issue. I was discussing it with a family member who - bless her - saw the issue more clearly than I did. How about getting seat belt extenders, put then on once and leave them, then hook into the new ends? 

DUH !!!!!

Now Steve has been suggesting getting an extender for his side of the car. I never even thought of doing it for both. But it's gotten more urgent now since I can no longer get my bad shoulder to exert the pressure needed to attach or release mine. I figure, put them on both seats, and the "working" parts will be new and presumably functional. Just put them in and leave them. I could even put tape around the part I want to be sure to remember not to use, like I had to with the parking brake a couple months back. It did take a while, but I actually weaned myself of the habit of reaching to pull the brake over the time it took to get the car into the shop. I can do it again! (BTW the habit to set the brake has returned. I do notice I'm doing it now however.)

I called a national parts chain with a local branch. They had lots of extenders but... none for my car. I called the dealership parts department... and the manufacturer never made one for my model. I went online for a search and found some cheap ones at Walmart... that don't look like the shape of my buckles. Hmmm, maybe too cheap is not the way to go. OK, I tried nationally... and found a site that asks very specific questions about year, model, and which precise location it needs to fit - one for every different seat in the car.They also offered two varieties, a short rigid one, or a longer flexible one, only 2 inches difference between them. This inspired more confidence. The fact that they gave color choices, black or grey, made no difference. I don't care about color, just safety.

I ordered a pair, paid for faster shipping. I don't need to be stuck somewhere trying to decide between safety by torturing my shoulder, or only going places where somebody can put the belt together for me on both ends of the trip. I did the latter last night, with Steve doing it at home, then meeting my son Paul at a Fleet Farm to buy warm winter gloves for him as an early Christmas present. He does come and shovel for us after all, and gets paid for it. He'd mentioned cold hands after finishing his own driveway first the other day. After getting him two different kinds of gloves, (quality check), I had him walk me to the car, get in the passenger side for a moment, and fasten my seat belt before I drove home. Even he had problems!

But I did manage to get out of it after some work once home. It beats having to ask Steve to get dressed for the cold and come out.

Now we wait....

A Day To Remember

It was our delayed Thanksgiving get-together, postponed till Saturday because several members of the combined extended family had to work on the actual holiday.  No biggie, right? We could hold it practically any time, though getting the most of us together made it more special.

But this is Minnesota, and there is a pattern in my previous Thanksgivings that stuff happens. I'm talking mostly weather. If something is planned, it gets super cold, heavy snow, dead heat tapes under a mobile home, plugged plumbing, a sick cat emergency (fatal), or what have you. Not all at once of course, and with placid holidays in between. But I never took Thanksgivings for granted when I was the person hosting. Now if we just had to drive a few miles to some relative, or even more than a few, nothing ever happened that I was made aware of. 

This time it was snow. Or at least that's how it started. We'd just gotten over a snowstorm days earlier that started with rain, then freezing temperatures, and I made sure to keep home, warm, and safe for that, despite it being the official holiday. We already had plans for Saturday anyway, in order to accommodate  the most possible people in our home. Too many had to work Thursday. After the ice and snow I didn't even bother to consider heading out for Black Friday, aside for a couple last minute food purchases for the next day.

The headcount of those planning to come topped out at 22, including us. Some of the advanced food prep was done, the turkey was thawing in the fridge, house messes were getting cleaned up, and I was heavy into the planning stage. Did we have all the needed food groups represented? Now remember, on this holiday above all others, desert is a vital food group. There were a lot of food choices planned that were not on my personal approved diet list, but there still was enough that nobody, least of all me, was going to starve. We were among the lucky this year.

A much more important question was where on earth were we going to put them? It wasn't just tables and chairs, but children were included and despite being a quarter of our sizes, they take up 4 times the space and produce 8 times the volume, especially if they're having fun. I had planned ahead by keeping a series of boxes out of the recycle stream until after everybody went home. It's amazing what three to five young children - depending on who all came - can find to do with free rein over a conglomeration of empty boxes when nobody cared what condition the boxes are in when they left for home, but only how much fun they could invent while destroying them.  I have a family source for cardboard boxes ready to be thrown out, and I'm promised a resupply before end of December.

Once the turkey was out of the oven, sitting on the kitchen island resting before being carved, other baking and cooking commenced in a flurry of activity. My work was mostly done until carving time rolled around. Somebody cooked and mashed potatoes, another made gravy, yet another cooked venison fresh from hunting season in some technique with an unpronounceable name I haven't heard on all the TV cooking shows Steve watches.  The judicious application of juniper berries was a delightful bonus. Hungry people waiting as patiently as possible were pacified with some banana bread /chocolate chip /walnut snacks, mostly resuming their conversations.

I'd known there was much to do last minute. The turkey had to be baked, the house cleaned, dishes washed and counters given that final scrub so food, plates and utensils could be laid out in usable locations. But even before that I had to spend what, due to predicted snow and unexpected side trips, became a 3 hour round trip to pick up Steve's daughter Maria since her car is in the shop and she was coming over to help clean so the total burden of that didn't fall on us. 

Naturally I did the night before what I always do before a big day, obsessed over all the details. This translates into getting 3 hours of sleep. Some times I get luckier and pull another hour out of nowhere. Make a mental note: this figures in later. I was fine to drive in the morning after a light snack and my morning mug of coffee. Due to snow, I topped up the gas tank before leaving town, tucked an extra coat in the back seat, and brought along some of my stuffing muffins for Maria's mom who doesn't travel in this kind of weather, so she'd get a taste of what would be in a goodie bag at the end of the evening. She'd miss the conversations and the chaos, but no need to miss the meal. Maria lives in the same apartment building with her and helps take care of her, years after a stroke which keeps her mom in a wheelchair. She won't visit us since we have no ramp. Occasionally the extended family has get-togethers in that building's party room so she doesn't miss all the fun. It's a long trip for most.

Once home, the work resumed. We'd seen the first flakes as I picked up Maria, exactly as the forecasters had predicted, few and far between. The storm was mostly the southern part of the state and Iowa, with a possibility of 3 inches for where we'd be partying, and possible 18 in southern Iowa. One of the TV weathermen started in the middle of Minnesota and said for every 50 miles going south, add an inch of snowfall. His math didn't quite add up, but at least our roads should be quite drivable. 

Of course, most guests were coming from as far as the south end of the metro. The cancellation calls started coming in. First, the couple bringing deviled eggs pulled out. (Steve had really been waiting for those!) Bad tires for the expected snow.  Then a fellow who was fairly local but who doesn't drive at night due to his vision. We'd already arranged to put him up on the couch overnight and keep him until he had good morning light and presumably much better roads. He'd gotten out of his driveway on his way to pick up pies to bring them (not a cook but he buys great pies!). He turned around after seeing how crazy other drivers were. He didn't feel safe at all. OK, so no pies... except for the little pecan one I picked up on a whim the day before when I went out to get Steve's potatoes. If we had everybody here, as originally planned, we'd need a third pie for desert, but nobody wound up eating pie. It still sits on the counter. 

Then we got a call from another family of four. They don't drive much, mostly take the city bus, so handy where they live, and she worried both about driving in snow and dark. We'd already arranged to turn over my bedroom to them, knowing they had two sleeping bags for the kids who were used to camping already, and I have a bathroom attached to it. So there went the dinner rolls.

Before you think I don't care about more than the food, as hostess I was trying to figure what was important, where gaps could be filled. It turned to to be unimportant, since every food contribution arriving had been sized for a group of 22. We told everybody we knew their safety was important, we'd miss them, and work on getting together over the coming holidays. Meanwhile Steve helped other logistical planning by counting heads remaining - or perhaps seats, since there were folding tables and chairs to be arranged. Two more carfuls were unaccounted for, so he and I both made phone calls. Some adult grandkids from Wisconsin pulled out due to the roads where they were (Italian noodle salad), but the family from the farthest south part of the metro were packing up the kids and getting on their way, and my daughter and her husband would be here soon with the venison. And would be making gravy from turkey drippings for the mashed potatoes Steve was doing. And bring a desert of apple/sweet potato crumble. My youngest wasn't even called because he lives only 5 miles away. So the cranberry fluff salad from his grandmother's recipe would be here, in addition to a shovel-pushing helper, and a surprise banana bread with chocolate chips and walnuts would be set out for an appetizer while guests awaited the the final cooking.

We wound up with a pleasant surprise additional guest, a friend of Maria's who'd been here several times as well as at other extended-family events. Of course we had room! Even if nobody had cancelled, there'd been enough tables and chairs to take care of everybody. She was at loose ends for the day, lived only about 14 miles away. She loves the swans that collect on the lake this time of year, usually staying until just before the lake freezes over before they fly all the way south, if one year's experience here counts. My son had announced as he came in the door that there were about 35 near our end of the lake, in addition of course to the Canada geese which also hang out this time of year. As soon as our additional guest arrived and greeted us, she and Maria walked down to the shore to see the swans.

It might have been a mistake. Not that we'd know about it until later. We might never have proof.

The house was about to get noisy. We have great-grandkids! Three are in the one family who came with kids, only their oldest in school yet. They are why I collected boxes for the party, from just big enough to hold whatever while small enough to pop into others, to big enough to be climbed inside of for whatever the reason of the minute is, and in one case, to get folded into a recliner chair after adding a second box as a footstool. They had a whole open room to play in, since the adults were much fewer than planned and folding tales and chairs stayed folded along a wall.

I know people who hate noisy kids. I divorced one of them. These kids were the sound of joy. Very few things in the room were denied them, one being a lighter which had been overlooked during cleanup. I knew from their last visit that the youngest was fascinated by a curio cabinet keeping him from playing with pueblo pottery, particularly several storytellers, each unique and irreplaceable, treasured if not actual treasures. Last winter he had to be pulled away from it repeatedly while he tried to open the doors. This time I took some left over packing tape and secured the lower door shut in a couple places. He can look all he wants and enjoy them. When he's old enough to figure out how to remove the tape put on again for any future visits, he'll be old enough to understand "No" much better. All three kids did get to listen to the ocean in a large conch shell they will inherit some year, and the reactions were unanimous: giggling! But the boxes claimed their attention again back in the large room. My daughter and granddaughter were there to catch up on news and enjoy/supervise them, so I returned to the kitchen. Still stuff to be done there.

There was a moment when I simply had to excuse myself from the food prep activity and go sit down,  I was overworked and overheated. It was noticed. I was brought some ice water, and when serving started a minute later, I was provided a plate of my choices from the supply line. A bit later, even though I recovered to normal quickly, Maria announced she wasn't going to ask me to drive her home as we had planned. She knew I'd gotten about three hours of sleep the night before, and snow was still accumulating, making the trip even longer. She'd talked to her friend who agreed to take her instead, since she already lived in that direction. We offered something for her extra gas, since I was planning on springing for that with my car anyway. Everything was settled. Riiiighhhht! Uh huh, sure, it's always that easy.

 Even with the cancellations there was a large representation of foods, and nobody felt any lack of variety. The great grands had gone early, and conversation continued for quite some time. The food brought was either eaten, sent home with various people including as care packages, or left here as care packages and put in our fridge. We finally had to enlist my son to rearrange the fridge to fit everything in without squishing or dumping things. 

People were getting ready to go home. Or so we had planned.

The friend providing the ride I was relieved from doing started rummaging thorough her purse for her keys. Then her jacket, one of those with zipper pockets inside and out every few inches. No keys! Now the house got searched, along with the path the two used outside for smoking breaks, than back into the house and the boxes the kids had played with, the crevices in every single piece of furniture, floors underneath, the trash just in case, and then the hunt started over, and repeated another time. I called my granddaughter, now at home, and asked if by any chance her kids had found them at some point and played with them, possibly even bringing them home. Nope.

Outside was examined. We knew the keys were removed from the car, since my son was outside when her car rolled up and he heard the key fob beep as it was locked. That didn't stop everybody from trying to figure out some way, any way, they could have gotten locked in the car. Yes, I know, but after nearly an hour, desperation was setting in. She had been pulling things from the back seat... maybe after the beep?

The sidewalk was checked out, plus beyond its paved edges, since that had gotten swept of snow earlier. Could they have fallen along the edge and gotten buried under a broomful? Could they have fallen under the edge of the car in the snow after beeping the doors locked and now be covered over? Flashlights were brought out and another hunt began. No results.

One persistent question never laid to rest was concerning the walk down to the lake to watch the swans. Had they fallen out of whichever pocket they might have been put in, either on the way to/from, or once there waking around off the street area? Our guest was becoming more and more upset and everything we tried, even the second and third times, brought up the negative answer. She stressed it wasn't just the loss of the keys - there were fixes for that... eventually. But there was something on that key ring which was a rare sentimental treasure from a deceased beloved parent, and she didn't have many of those. 

Eventually we quit looking for the keys and started problem solving for getting her car on the road... so I could eventually get mine out. She could at least get into her house if she could break into her car and get the garage door opener. My son volunteered to drive her home and back - in the only set of usable wheels left until her car was moved. There was a second set of keys there, though she'd have to ask where once she got there. The plan first though was to locate a wire coat hanger to open the door. The closest one was at my son's house. When he returned with one, it wasn't working as well as advertised.

Next and last resort was to call the county officer's night shift, explain the problem, and ask them to come open the car, after sufficient ID was proffered, of course. Never mind the little Catch-22 of her having her wallet with ID tucked in its secret hiding place... inside the locked car. They got enough information over the phone to come over promptly with a gizmo to unlock her door. Or try anyway. Maybe he was new on the job or hadn't graduated to his uniform out of a juvie background stealing cars. At least enough jiggling around of car door innards was done to result in the car alarm going off. I was informed, when people came inside to warm up a bit, that neighbors - an unspecified number - had called in an attempted car theft. I guess nobody actually looked out to notice the first squad car. They apparently stopped calling once the second squad rolled in.

Meanwhile the (rookey?) had stopped trying and my son decided to try the coat hanger again. Between the three of them, the door was opened, the car battery disconnected to stop the alarm... eventually, as some special sort of needed ratchet was provided to accomplish something else needed to get everything done until a real key appeared. My son paid close attention for the anticipated restart later. No point calling them back. Now at least she had her garage opener and wallet with drivers license, so when she returned with her spare key she could legally drive.  That trek took over another half hour on bad roads, and - of course, since Murphy lives forever  - reconnecting the battery under the hood once they got that lifted while there was enough battery life left to find the cable -(but only just enough, so put half a dozen D cells on the shopping list) - they had to turn the car alarm off again by using the key the system recognized.

Whew! Who knew car theft was so complicated? Oh wait, I'm not giving away any secret techniques here, am I? Just in case, DO NOT STEAL CARS! Yes, that includes you. So don't start!

This morning I managed to verify everybody who left our house made it home safely, even if hours later than planned. As snow melts, I will be checking for a stray set of keys to show up. I'll also put a notice on the mailroom bulletin board if they are found as to who's looking for them. At least here when they plow they don't take the snow away, just wait for spring melt. If the keys are in there, eventually they should show up. I hope so.

Codependency

 Way back when, you know, those years when I was in a support group learning how to identify my own feelings, hopefully to form better, more healthy relationships, while healing from an abusive one, "codependency" was a bad thing. You wanted to learn to avoid it. It meant you were so dependent on the relationship with another that you didn't even know who you were without it.You were merely reactive to whatever and however the other person felt and acted.

Many years have passed, those goals reached, Steve and I have a very loving, healthy relationship. But let me repeat: many years have passed. We're not spring chickens any more. Our bodies have been discovering many ways to age ungracefully, non-functionally, often painfully.

Recently we have rewritten the "rule" about codependency being a bad thing. In terms of simply coping with life, we are figuring out how to fill each other's gaps, if you will.  The most obvious is our bodies have aged in different ways, but together we can accomplish what one used to. In Steve's case, he has difficulties in reaching things low on the ground or floor. A grabber stick - and there are three in the house - can only cope with certain kinds of things. But I have kept the flexibility to bend over and reach the floor to pick things up which still need fingers to accomplish. What is painful for him is just normal motion for me.

On the other hand, I have extreme difficulty reaching things up high, and the definition of "how high is high" keeps changing for me. But Steve can still do that easily. In that sense, we have become codependent. Both of us not only need the other, but are happy we can do things for the other. Even beyond our affection, it's just nice to still feel useful in some ways.

Of course the downside is knowing we have to deal with the lack of the other on what - fortunately - are still rare occasions. But the knowledge hovers out on the margins that for one of us that day will come when we are no longer "we" but merely "the remaining half of we". What we can no longer do by ourselves will have to get done some other way or not at all. 

This got driven home earlier this week. Steve had to go to the ER for a still unidentified pain. All the tests run were ambiguous. Not ruling things out, just not giving answers. He was kept overnight for observation, given some great pain control via IV, and another test was scheduled for the next day. I finally went home for some sleep, to return the next morning. This, of course, bumped into one of the things I can't do easily (meaning without extreme pain and possible dislocation) by myself, especially in cold weather.

I can only partially dress myself these days. In summer the layers are single, the sleeves shorter, the movements required much easier.  In cold weather I dress in layers, long sleeves under other long sleeves. They have friction against each other that cloth across skin doesn't. I get as far as head through the neck and hands to the ends of the sleeves... and there I'm stuck in a contorted bundle of fabric. My shoulders snag everything, the sleeves twist, my head catches the back of the collar, and I go marching off in a contorted position looking like a warped scarecrow to find Steve. He sees what needs to get pulled where while I can hold the inside sleeves in place at my wrists. We both laugh as much as you would watching us,  because it is so silly, but together it gets done and I'm ready to go face the world, even if that world is only fixing breakfast and coffee and watching the morning news. It might also be work, or some medical appointment, or shopping.

I was facing a morning of no Steve, and I was the one with the car to get him home. There was only one solution: don't get undressed! Fortunately my top set of layers are loose and comfortable. Being a geezer, I have frequently taken naps during the day in front of the TV or with my laptop open and... waiting. No tight spots, no irritations, unlike other parts of my wardrobe.  Now remember that I have no problems reaching low things, so I easily exchanged sweatpants for PJ bottoms, and had a solid night's sleep. My top outer layer was loose polar fleece, so no wrinkles to show, and fortunately no dirt. It even still held the sticky-badge that got me back inside the ER to visit Steve early in the morning. I'd needed it the previous evening when I left in search of supper while the staff kept dithering for hours about what to do with Steve that evening. Not only were there no rooms available for admitting him, the ER was also full.We'd already waited for three hours that morning from walking in the doors to getting a spot in the ER.

I returned to the ER the next morning after having breakfast and packing real food to have during the day as needed so I could stay with Steve. I got greeted with the news they were sending him home! His pain had disappeared overnight, fortunately, and none of the tests pointed to anything to fix. We were out of there in the time it took to print up findings and recommendations, and remove his IV line. He's still pain free a day later, catching up on real sleep he missed, and eating normal things for him. I'm catching up on missed TV shows via the DVR, and following the snow news, grateful to be home hours before any of that started here, and determined to be staying out of it until I can get somebody to come shovel for us... after it stops later

There will be much to be thankful for this holiday. And that absolutely includes our codependency.

Suicide By Kitchen

Whoa, whoa,  settle down. It's mostly a joke, and my apologies to anybody who needed a trigger warning - though if you needed one you've likely already skipped this post. But these days it's how I describe the several days of intense cooking prep needed in order to make my current version of stuffing muffins. Too many parts of me ache, and will continue for a while. The name is my reminder to question before the next time I undertake these whether it's really worth it. I happen to love those little boxed microwave meals, or mixing yogurt and fruit, or making a sandwich.... Steve is the cook in this family.

So far the family says it is worth MY work to make these. But a word of warning here - real warning. If you're starting now to make these for Thanksgiving yourself, you're already too late, unless you come up with a lot of adaptations. You might make it for Christmas, if you serve turkey and stuffing then. Or even Easter, the third time of the year I bother to do a turkey for. Or did.

Mostly if I want bird, it's the already cooked rotisserie chickens available in a lot of stores, still hot and served in a plastic bag. I will buy these throughout the year, and that's my start for making this stuffing. Once everybody's had their favorite pieces of the birds, there will be skin, juice, and meat left on the bones to deal with. I'll freeze a couple bags of the unwanted stuff, then haul them out and pop into a slow cooker (in lieu of a stew pot.) Add water to cover everything, and simmer through the day. Strain the bits through a colander or whatever stands up to the heat, and pop that broth into a container to freeze. Then you separate out the bits of meat - carefully! - and again, freeze those, and pop the rest in the garbage. Doing this throughout the year gives you stock and meat, once thawed. I hope you have a large enough freezer. It also works to include your turkey carcass(es). We bought a second freezer. This is labor intensive, but spread out through the year, even my shoulders hold up to it... mostly. I usually give them a few days off from other heavy tasks before and afterwards. But that's just me. You do you.

I do not add salt anywhere in the process - pretty much everything already has plenty. But if your taste buds need more salty flavor, or even more bird flavor, that time in the cooker before cleaning and freezing can be an opportunity to add chicken bouillon. Salt is variable in the brands.

The next big task is shopping. You need a huge pan for mixing this batch, but bowls usually aren't big enough, or are tippy, so I use the graniteware turkey roaster I inherited from my mom. You can still buy them, even if the stores try to sell everybody flimsy aluminum pans which won't hold a turkey without dropping it on the floor if you're not careful. You'll also need several muffin pans, whatever basically fills two shelves in your oven completely, so you can get by with the fewest number of cycles of baking, saving power and $$. Then stock up on cupcake papers, more than what you think you'll need. When decorated ones are available, they can be festive. Or just pick colors that look appetizing. (So far I've never seen a design with a screaming terrified turkey on it. No, that's not a suggestion. Just an observation.)

During the year I look for sales on certain things that store well, like craisins, aka dried cranberries. I used to be able to find orange flavored ones, but haven't seen them in stores for a long time. So I make sure to pick up a can of frozen OJ pulp, and somewhere in my stores of equipment will have kept a largish container with a lid that can hold the dried fruit, the can of OJ, and just a half- can-full of water. I like to concentrate the OJ flavor that the dried cranberries soak up a couple days ahead of baking time, so that's all the water I add despite directions for making juice. If you're stuck with pre-made OJ, even as fussy as I am, I'd use it anyway. This recipe process is adaptable as it has to be. ( My daughter hates that. She want's measurements! Really, just add more sage!)

Given lots of freezer space, I shop ahead for bread. Not just any bread. For those who can't have gluten, good luck finding the kind that works for you, or find your own substitute carbs to soak up the flavors. For each batch of stuffing, I get a 1 1/2 pound loaf of whole wheat, and a 1 pound loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. (I might add more of the latter.) Unlike a lot of recipes, I do not just throw together dried heels of bread. This is fresh and stays fresh. When I have the time, but at least a week ahead of the big event, I tear each loaf into bits, pour them back into the bags they came from, seal it back up and put it back in the fridge or freezer until the day before cooking. If you want to start in July for November, no problem, Just keep it sealed. Try not to squish the bags of crumbs between then and using. They have a lot to absorb ahead of them.

There is shopping that you'll want/need to do much closer to cooking time, including herbs, eggs, celery, onions, and butter. For each 2 1/2 pounds of bread, you'll need to chop and saute either a large yellow onion, or their equivalent, in butter or margarine. I also - separately - do the same with a celery heart or the same amount in long stalks. I start with the onions since I like the flavor when they brown. Celery just doesn't brown and takes much longer anyway. I give its pan its own butter/equivalent. Each full recipe usually gets 1 to 2 sticks of whichever I have on hand, divided between the two veggies as needed. In poor years, budget wise, I've used onion flakes instead of fresh, and celery seed or beau monde instead of fresh. I don't work with garlic so that's always powder. Not salt.

Each thing that gets added to the bread crumbs gets mixed in thoroughly. Each moist addition gets the mix a bit more messy, so paper towels are handy. I did experiment with chopped pecans but they weren't that popular. No biggie, more for me in other uses. Next to last are the spices. A lot of people like and have fresh ones. I don't. They spoil before I get to them. I like garlic powder, powdered thyme, rosemary after torturing it in a mortar and pestle to break them and release flavor. They are such hard little things. But by far the most important is sage. If you taste your mix (before you add the eggs) your sage will seem stronger than it is after baking. Some years it seems just right, others it tends to disappear by the time it's cooked and eaten.

I save the eggs for last, always. 6 of them well beaten go into the mix and like everything else, mixed by hand. (Again, paper towels are handy. You will be really goopy.) It's the only way to be sure everything is evenly distributed. Being raw is why tasting happens before the eggs go in. The reason they go in at all is they keep everything  together in the muffin cups. Otherwise all you get are crumbs.

One batch makes around 4 to 5 dozen, depending on how full you fill each cup. I like to pat the raw stuffing gently down into each paper liner where everything is touching the adjacent pieces. You can pile it so it's flat across the top or mounded. If it's flat it will bake for about 30 minutes at 350. If rounded, give it 35. If any spots in the tins are empty, fill them half full of water so the tins don't warp. When they are cool, I pop the muffins back into the bread bags I emptied and twist tie the ends to keep them moist, whether for a few hours on the counter, or days in the fridge, or even weeks/months in the freezer. They do last well that way, though a bit of a warm-up is nice. I generally figure on having two for every guest. Some will ignore them, others will take more and work to sneak a few out with them after the meal. Once I know they really like them I plan ahead for gift-packages for them if the meal is at my house, or just leave them behind with whoever the host is, bags and all, keeping my serving plate/bowl. I have learned to leave some in the home freezer before anybody ever sees one, because we both love them and each one is essentially a tiny complete meal in itself. (But shhh, don't tell them there might be more!)

Meanwhile I just pulled out the last of the batch of what started with 6 pounds of bread yesterday to cool. We each had two muffins last night for supper and two just now for lunch. I'll need to dig up a few extra bags as some will be going home with people after a very big dinner this weekend. I'm only doing turkey and stuffing. The rest is pot luck. 

Oh, and this year, for Christmas.... Steve is baking a ham! Next turkey day - as there is a second turkey in the freezer - I'll think about doing this again... really, really, really hard! (And more sage next time.)

Repercussions

 The morning after can be a much better time to assess injuries from a fall. The emotions have worn off, parts moved - or not so much - and sleep quality can provide better information.

Within a couple hours I knew one foot had issues. After much discussion with myself, plus rereading the label, I added a second Tylenol to my evening dose. I still limp, but the pain is on the outside of the foot about an inch behind the toes. I also am not going anywhere - not one more step -  without shoes with the proper arch supports in them, though technically this isn't in the arch. But with the arch supported properly, the rest of my foot is getting less play with each step. Morning meds again doubled the Tylenol, and we'll see how it goes. Steve worries that I need to go to the ER. What are they  going to do? Diagnose a break, worst case, put me in a cast and pretend I'm capable of using crutches with my shoulders?

Riiiiight! That'll work. Uh-huh, no problem. Maybe next year, eh?

Of all the bumps it's the only one still vying for attention. If I push around hard enough I can locate a bruise on my forehead that's too small to even color the skin. It's a classic case of, "Does it hurt  when I do this?" Followed immediately by "Well, then, don't do that, dummy!"

I did locate a tiny landing spot on my right elbow overnight. Not even worth a bandaid, and barely worth the astonishment that, again, the parts of me that went down hardest aren't the ones that hurt. Maybe it's padding on the side that landed first. Maybe I actually did lose some memory of the event during the event.  You do read that it can happen. I'm not going to worry about it, just assess the now of it, and decide if any action needs to be taken. The only thing that occurs is possibly putting an extra arch support in the one shoe to help keep weight off and add stability when I walk, which will be as little as I can get away with. There is always the consideration of how long the walk is from my recliner to the bathroom, right? Plus we're supposed to be getting a package today in the mail, so I'll have a reason to check out any possible impediments to my driving. I won't be walking there and back.

On the other hand, I did call the local police station this morning to talk to their captain. I wanted to be sure they knew how impressed we were with the way (turns out his name is Zachary) performed last night. Everything was spot on. His concerns were appropriate to the occasion, his ability to listen was perfect in hearing my specific needs, and his solution in the lift was an amazing show of strength without bravado.  He made sure I was OK before he left and dismissed the ambulance. When I finished talking with his captain, she informed me that my commendation would go into his file.

Steve and I both think he earned it.

A Five Point Landing

 It started with a delivery to the house... but to the wrong door, the one with the sign on the door window with "use other door" and an arrow. The wrong door is a step down with just a screen door to hold onto. The mentioned "other door" exits on the same level as the floor inside and has a covered porch to help mitigate rain and allow useful movement with full arms, whatever their burden. Our regular delivery people know where packages go. Others don't, and go for the one closest to the road, however awkward it is for us.

Steve got a notice that a package he ordered had been delivered. I was better dressed, meaning I had been outside recently and was still in extra layers due to being slow to warm up. It's a windy walk to the mail shed,  and November is chilly in late afternoon. Plus, I'm generally in better shape, in terms of mobility. I went to check at the regular door... nothing.  Back through the house to the other door, and there it was, a little thing leaning against the door, an oversized envelope with small items inside. 

I have to unlock two doors and step down to grab it, then turn, step up, and pull the storm door in behind me. As I turned, one of my shoes caught on the threshold, and down I went. I didn't even have time to react by putting an arm out to stop the fall, which, considering my shoulders, is probably a good thing. These days both will dislocate with the wrong pressure and angle. I knew I'd stopped falling when my forehead hit a lump inside the package which had landed on the floor just ahead of it.

I'm getting too familiar with needing help getting up after a fall these days. There was an added wrinkle this time. Inside that door is the utility room. You have the outer wall with that door and a window on one side, and lined up on the other are the water heater, a small cabinet, the stacked washer/dryer, and the furnace. In normal use there is room for one person either ahead of or behind a laundry basket, exiting or entering, with room to turn around and maybe carefully trading places with the basket. Yes, it's a bit tight. And I was in a lump between the wall and utilities.

I wasn't exactly dizzy from hitting my head, but I wasn't perfectly steady either. Even if I could stand at that moment, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

Steve was ten feet away in his chair and heard me. Did I need help? Absolutely, but I know not to ask him for the physical work of it. Neither of us can or should pull the other person up. I asked him to call 911, which he did. I wasn't sure yet if I was hurt or not, so they dispatched an ambulance with paramedics, but a young cop got there almost as Steve hung up the call. I managed to partially sit up, cautioning the cop against pulling either arm in order to avoid dislocating either at the shoulder. It's way to easy otherwise to just assume you can grab hands and pull. He suggested he could put his arms around my chest under mine and do a dead lift.

I gave him a quick look-over. He was slim and I knew I outweighed him. I also knew the consequences of it not going well. So I gave him my scale weight to let him know what he was in for in case he wanted to wait for a helper, but he assured us both he was good for it. He readjusted my position a bit so all four of our feet were secure on the floor and gave an apparently easy lift. My legs worked fine as we complete getting me to a stand together.

Once I was vertical I gave myself a pause to be sure I was steady, and once I was he followed me inside to my chair before he cancelled the ambulance at my direction, received our well expressed grattitude, and left. After a couple minutes sitting properly in mychair, I went back out to lock doors and turn off lights. Places that hurt were starting to sort themselves out from ones that didn't.

Sitting here writing this, I am aware of a possible bruise showing up tomorrow on my forehead, as well as more on the arm I landed on, a couple on the other knee and on that side's foot. Even the uphill arm is twinging, so I must have managed to get it down to break the fall a little before I actually landed. That's the worst shoulder of course, and doesn't really need a new reason to bark at me. I am left wondering why the side that took most of the impact, based on my final position, took the least damage.  Just luck?

On the plus side, I finally have decided to trust Tylenol enough to start taking that for pain on a twice daily basis, one in the morning, one in the evening. That still leaves a lot of time without pain relief, but it also makes the bad shoulder more tolerable until I see the surgeon next month. It also isn't an NSAID, the only thing that really works for bone-on-bone grinding for me, but I'm still recovering from pancreatitis and am not willing to take the chance of interrupting that healing process. I will be taking the evening pill early this evening however.

In fact, now is good.

About That Seatbelt Problem

This is a new one for me. I've never had a car old enough - in calendar terms - to show this issue. I've taken lots of them over 300,000 miles back when I was a courier, even over 400,00, but that usually happened within 5 calendar years. I think this is an aging issue, and because of retirement, even the cross country driving as snowbirds hasn't taken the mileage up much over 170,000 miles.

But it's a 2013 model, so it has aged. It's also gone from heat extremes to winter and back again. AZ proved hard on various rubber components. While the door top gaskets got their fix by tucking them back in place and calling it OK, plus learning to grab the door in other locations to close it, the oil system needed actual replacements, with my needing to note any further drips or excess usage.

I use the seatbelt all the time. It's habit, like the parking brake is habit. It has been since 1975, when all cars were required to have seatbelts and laws mandated their use. I remember the year because that was when the family got a van. I loved/hated that thing.

Let me assure you the seatbelt still works... sort of. It does pull out, retract, latch and release. It's just gotten harder and harder to pull it out from the car frame, taking me both hands most days. Putting it back often means getting it uncurled right before where it coils up since it now likes to fold there. That's just an annoyance, some days more than others. While a delay, it's perfectly functional... eventually. 

Once both hands drag it over to where it latches between the front seats, shoving it down into the mechanism there is more problematic. It used to just click in place. Now I have to shove it, hard, and even with Steve helping from the passenger seat can take a bit. Releasing it is just as hard a task. These days, it's also painful, that being the side my worst shoulder is on. And let me remind you that post pancreatitis I'm off all pain relievers, trying to let everything heal as much as it can. While the docs are optimistic, the gut hasn't decided yet.

I'd love to think the latch part could just be oiled or something, and things would slip securely into place. Since it's a Hyundai, and this is small town America, the mechanics whom I trusted while on the job are nowhere close, if not also retired themselves. Here the locals proudly like Chevys and Fords, stubbornly refusing to deal with "those foreign cars". That leaves me with dealing with the dealership, a half hour trip away. 

OK, start with Google, ask for the price to replace my belt system, parts and labor. Just the one. Google says between $400 and $600.  Hmmmmm.... 

I called the dealership, asking for a price estimate to replace the driver's seatbelt. I called last Thursday. And again Monday. Yesterday I got the estimate from them. It was over $1,100! I thanked them for their work to find it out for me, and informed them I'd try to learn to live with it. Technically it does work, after all.

There will be issues of course. I have my first consult with the shoulder surgeon next month, delayed and rescheduled after the hospitalization. That likely means surgery will be delayed till next year. Once that happens there will be some chunk of time when I won't be driving while things heal and strength returns, starting with wearing a sling for a while. So Steve will be driving, and that's while dealing with his own health issues, which have resulted in me being the sole driver in the family for years. He did drive while I was in the hospital, so his confidence is back, but pain for him isn't just a daily yes/no but a moment to moment yes/no. Those long trips didn't help.

Mostly we fill in each other's gaps, if you will. I help with what he needs, and he helps with what I need. I tend to get my arms stuck in long sleeves, especially that second layer that has friction with the first, and need tops straightened and pulled into place. He can reach the high places I can't without risking dislocation. He needs help getting things off the floor and from low cupboards to save on back pain, as well as other things which I can do easily. He can reach the light between our chairs while sitting but I have to stand and turn to get it.We are quite the pair... so long as we remain a pair. Meanwhile we laugh about how we fit together, and do our best not to worry about the what-ifs of the future. 

Not too-o-o-o much, anyway.

Yep. Deer (Killing) Season

Normally when we're out and about we see zero deer. Around sunset they grow in numbers to maybe one or two. Maybe still zero. On the occasional day trip there might be a bloated one off in the ditch, victim of road kill. Or as Steve likes to put it, they learn the lesson of what it means to be Minnesota attack deer. Or Wisconsin attack deer, depending. We're close to the border and find no real difference. They may succeed in killing the cars they attack, but always at a price.

On what I consider a really, really lucky day, one can even see a bald eagle, picking at the rotting carcass along the ditch. I do mean lucky for both the person and the eagle, though luckier for the person if they'd remembered to bring their camera along. Possibly also for the highway clean-up crew, with less stinky weight to toss up on the back of their truck, but I suppose that depends on how together the remaining hide is keeping the remains, or whether they have to scrounge around collecting pieces scattered across the landscape, by then no doubt a very sloped and slippery landscape. One would hope they have cleats or similar on their footwear. Imagine slipping, sliding down that bank, and then sitting back in the truck!

If my nose still worked I'd try to describe the olfactory ramifications as well. But lucky you, not today.

Last weekend we had occasion to do a bit of traveling out on country roads. It coincided with deer hunting opener, which always coincides with the rut. The result even for non-hunters is the chance to see lots of deer. A few will be in remote fields, cleaning the stubble from harvest for some last minute fattening up for winter. For some reason these invariably are does. Perhaps young bud bucks too, but either way, not currently being bothered by the rut. Most of them will be much closer to the road however. Permanently so, at least until the cleaning crew makes its rounds. Inevitably they are very bloated as well. Those stomach contents are trying their hardest to digest themselves, as the stomachs' owners have given up the ghost. Just not the gas... yet. A couple more days, if warm enough, and it will no longer be a problem except for people who still have noses.   My sympathies to you all.  

(You notice a recurring theme here?)

Now if these were freeways, there'd be much less bloat visible and lots more highway hamburger, perhaps even the occasional limb stuck in some unlucky trucker's grill. Yep, I've seen that, on a truck with too busy a schedule to stop and clear it off. Maybe it just wasn't his personal rig.

Of all those deer, we saw perhaps a dozen that one trip up. It was dark on the return and, luckily, we saw none, not in fields, in ditches, or in the road.

 We had started seeing deer crossing the roads about a week ago. Amazingly, vehicles were stopping to let them cross. I guess a  small percentage of folks around here have finally learned that the attack deer can be expensive, especially with prices of grills, engines, windshields, bumpers, etc., skyrocketing recently from the weird bouncing tariffs.  My last attack deer cost me a new car when it killed the power steering on the one I was driving, as its age and mileage convinced the insurance company to total it out. That was long ago, fortunately.

We even saw a couple in a neighbor's yard last week. On one side of their house was a buck with a great rack. On the other side was a doe. Both stood so still as I drove very slowly past that I couldn't tell for sure if they were real or not. I mean, not even an ear twitching! When we returned later both had vanished, so we decided they weren't decoys. Besides, this was in town where no hunting is allowed.

(Note that the prohibition does not mean we never hear rifles going off around sunrise and sunset. We just hope those folks are out beyond city limits. This town isn't huge.)

We wondered why this particular yard had attracted the deer. It had nothing visible to offer aside from mowed grass. No bushes, no apple trees, nothing. Perhaps the owners had spread grain to lure them in, either just to watch them or to keep them away from hunters for a little while. I've driven past there since and haven't seen them again.

I was disappointed.

But they might have been the pair that stopped traffic on my way home from the store last night, including the ambulance with lights and siren going! Wise choice.

 

 

We Can Put The Hair Back In Now

 Which is to say I've been tearing it out over two days now - figuratively, that is. But the lost is finally found, and a plan is growing to prevent the next repeat. I won't guarantee all the repeats of course, but they won't be exactly like this one... which happens to be a repeat itself, if a little more drastic than the others.

Habits change, for all kinds of reasons. I've been working on the alternative to a decades' long habit for a few months now. I now know that when I count on the new habit being foolproof, there's still work to be done. But let's go back to the start of all this.

Back when I was working from my car as a courier, aka since '85 till retirement, I needed a way to keep my driver's license, credit card for gas, and all the other important little things both close at hand and hidden while I was out of the vehicle. I started buying the first in a series of pocketbooks, big enough for checks, cards, and cash, plus a few important photos of family. Unlike a man's wallet, I needed the length for holding a checks pad. Obviously that was many years ago. I still have checks, but I think I've used two since we moved back to MN. Everything is plastic or cash these days. I don't do Venmo or whatever non-contact money transfer programs are out there. The closest I come is giving a card number while ordering online or over the phone. Otherwise my regular creditors and debtors do the ACH thing.

I discovered ways to hide it from view in the car. All my cars for the last couple decades have had black carpet and upholstery, so that's a start. It's easy to carry when needed. Nearly all my needed cards fit in their slots, though that lately has pointed out a need for replacement, since the slots are separated by fabric, and a couple cards refuse to slide in peacefully. There are times I get frustrated enough to poke the small end in instead of the wide one, but at least a zipper keeps them in place enough until the next use. I do have a plan to replace it, but that just got moved up a few months... like to now. Or tomorrow or such. The hunt will be on.

Things I needed while driving that didn't go in the pocket book went in the nooks and crannies in the car. Extra fast food napkins (clean) went in the door pockets for quick use. Nail clippers, chap sticks, cough drops, pills, even a tiny hairbrush went in the center console. There was room for my camera when I went out shooting, or my phone when I needed access, though now driving without bluetooth means I don't bother to remove it from its trap in a pants pocket under the seat belt, unless Steve is in the car to answer it for me. New laws these days.

It's not that I didn't have any purses. I do, a couple ugly old clunkers that were always good for on the airplane to keep those necessities handy instead of way up in the overhead bin. Otherwise I didn't use them. Then last Christmas I was given a gorgeous purse, in bold stripes of pink, red, purple, green, yellow, blue, orange, and whatever else could be added to the blend. For simplicity, as well as favoritism, I refer to it as the pink purse. It holds everything, with room to spare for a book, water bottle, snacks, and more. A front pocket keeps keys and my tiny flip phone handy. And yes, the pocketbook fits in nicely... when I remember to put it in of course. Because the old habit still reigns when I'm in a hurry. Plus when loaded it's heavy. These days that's a literal pain. In fact even the pocketbook alone is a pain as well.

So what happened? Well, over the weekend we had a small road trip to a grandchildren's birthdays party. I took the big purse because it held a bunch of stuff I needed to take, including the birthday cards. The pocketbook was inside, not just because my driver's license is in it, but I knew we were going past a place with the cheapest gas around, and prices had just gone up so I wanted to be sure of the best deal available.

I filled the tank after the party, and took the pocketbook inside with me to buy a lottery ticket, just because. Upon returning to the car I put it somewhere.........  And that was the problem.

It was cold when we returned home and together we hauled inside only what we absolutely had to. I was still chilled from gassing up in a stiff breeze over 30 miles earlier, even with the heater functioning well. Steve had to maneuver his walker from backseat to house, now that his arthritic hip is acting up as much as my shoulder is, so I grabbed quickly and randomly, except for the pink purse which was not a random choice at all. At that point I believed the pocketbook was inside. Plus the colors are very visible in the car, should anybody want to be tempted.

Fast forward to the next day when I got a call to drive a friend to the ER. I grabbed the purse, made sure that a book I was partly through and a snack I could actually eat (as opposed to, say, the birthday party food) were inside it, and headed over. We got out of there after dark and in the snow, and spent the least possible needed time getting things back in the car. My pink purse just was tossed on the back seat. Its snack was eaten, its book a little more read, and off we went, straight home for the patient. I'd thought to order something from Arby's that Steve had been saying sounded good enough to try, but only after I dropped my rider off. I pulled over about a block away from their house, a spot with no street lights, and went to dig my pocketbook out of the purse so it would be handy for the drive-through.

It wasn't there.

I checked the door pockets, where it occasionally goes. Nope. A couple more locations. Also nope. I felt around the back seat where the purse had landed in case it had fallen out. Nope. Under the front seats in case it had both fallen out AND slide forward during a stop.  Nope. Nada.  SO.... no Arby's tonight. 

Had I even brought it? I recalled getting everything lined up on the counter ready to go but my visualization held no recollection of the black pocketbook. I called Steve to let him know I was a: on my way and b: minus my pocketbook. He offered to check the usual places until I arrived.

I could give you details of all the places checked, quadruple checked, and even then rechecked, including the least likely ones to ever host a pocketbook. I won't. It continued through the evening, including through the car in the dark of the driveway. I could describe an evening worrying instead of sleeping, the plans for how to deal with the worst case, starting with a new copy of my driver's license so I could go to the credit union and prove I was the one needing new plastic, etc., etc. Searching never stopped, even after I decided it would do no good until we had actual daylight in which to be back to search the car.

Memories were searched - when was the last time that ...? Then they were overwritten with "Well, maybe I..." or "Could we have....?" Nothing availed. What I did manage to do very successfully was convince myself that I couldn't trust my own memory. I knew I had it at the gas station. I knew I didn't have it the next afternoon and - oops - had been driving without it to and from the ER. Good thing I don't drive to attract the cops' attention!

Emotionally it was hair pulling time. I'd think of another improbable place not checked, or one checked three times already just to be sure it wasn't there for the fourth check. Clothing had pockets checked, regardless of whether it might fit. Clean laundry on the foot of the bed was hung in case the pocketbook had inadvertently slid or crawled under. Nutty, right? The final decision was that once I decided I could stand the cold enough to go out in the morning I'd bundle up and take advantage of the daylight and do a full car search. The interior would still be black on black, but daylight at least lets shapes emerge. After all, the black carpet isn't pristine and most of the dirt it holds isn't actually black, so that helps. Front of car including glove box and trash bag... nope. Under seats, front and back sides, nope. Backseat under the sign left from No Kings Day? Nope. (I mean, it could have slid under and then somehow shrunk in thickness so the sign stayed level over the seat, right?  LOL) 

Finally it was the  tough one. I'd been putting it off because if I opened the hatch, the hydraulics would spring it up, but then my bad shoulder would have to reach its top, which even with me on tip-toes is a really big and painful ask, just to close it afterwards. The other shoulder isn't as painful, but neither is it capable of even reaching the top of the open hatch to pull it down because I gave up trying to force it's muscles to do that knowing it dislocates for sure each time. I either avoid it when possible or try to wrangle assistance. I'd checked it anyway in the dark last night, feeling around with my hand, reaching into bags since we put the reusable ones in there for when we go shopping. I knew it hadn't been completely emptied after the party, and there were at least two bags with contents to come in sitting back there. I lifted one out... and my pocketbook was right under where it had been.

I'm sure it was laughing at me! I have no idea how it got there, or when. I don't even care any more. But I can quit pulling out hair and start putting it back in. Emotionally, of course.

Oh, and the lottery ticket earned us its usual: just the place it had been sitting in, waiting for us to recycle it and make room for another one, maybe next month. I can live with that. I won't need it for the next pocketbook... which will be white. Or cream! Or pink! Anything but black!!!!