Waiting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oddball (?) Breakfast

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scammed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last American Survivor of Iwo Jima Is Gone

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid Question Du Jour

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

Piqued your curiosity yet?

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

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

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

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

And you're still reading this?

One of THOSE Phone Calls

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

I'll take it from the top.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They look just fine.

So-o-o Tempting... For A Bit

 Remember I said this shoulder is healing differently than the first one? Pain is still the biggest part. The long term nerve block wasn't as effective and still isn't. Second time there was the familiar body dysphoria like the first time but little pain control. These weeks later my body recognizes itself and its location, but a long-term ache has set in and seems to resist alteration. I was used to Tylenol settling in to ease pain on shoulder #1 within half an hour of taking a pill, not to mention lasting for hours. Now it's like I have to wait hours and find I'm still waiting until I realize it was gone for a bit but I moved and it's back.

I left the hospital with a smaller amount of Oxy than post shoulder #1. Since I hadn't really needed that much oxy previously I had no complaints. So the temptation, when my shoulder aches for hours at a time, is to take another oxy in hopes of stopping the pain. It does sort of work. But it also means I can't drive if needed. I had a good chat with my surgeon last week, my first post-op exam in his office. We discussed a lot of things, including my need to be available as a (legal) driver coming up. I had Googled the question, trying to find out how long Oxy stays in the system, in order to see how long I needed to wait to be legal after taking one before driving, since the shoulder itself would not be expected to stop me by the time I was needed to drive Steve around after his new hip - and presumably his own doses of some strong narcotic painkiller for a while. So no driving for him then while he recuperates.

Google simply gave me a scold! Obviously if I had to ask, then  I had a problem with narcotics and needed to try treatment or addiction therapy. WTF! All I wanted was a window for being legal, just in case I was needed for driving - as fully expected when Steve couldn't. I figure I can monitor my muscle strength and work around the disability of the hour. I have for years, never letting various muscle strains or even a broken hand keep me from doing my job driving. Tennis elbow? Adjust this way. Bad knees? Arrange for driving long distances instead of hiking heavy boxes every couple of blocks in a major city. I made sure the company valued me and thus gave me every opportunity to (reliably) do the job as needed. They didn't need to hear about a broken hand, I just disguised it with a carpal tunnel support and carried on.  I was dependable, the bills got paid.

But all I got from Google was a bad assumption and an insult. What I got from the surgeon was understanding of the family needs now, and a time requirement of 24 hours between taking an oxy if needed on a bad day and getting behind the wheel. It makes the difference between ordering groceries to be delivered - an extra fee - and driving 24 miles round trip to haul them home, up the stairs, and into the house. Basically it's a financial decision, while we're still paying off the new furnace. Both of us should be able to make that kind of choice for ourselves, both of us dealing with surgeries to lessen daily pain and increase mobility as we heal. Steve will be getting his PT in our home. I'll be heading over to the local doc's office, just like for the other shoulder, about 3 miles each way, driving of course, but not starting my PT till July. Muscles will be adjusting - should all go as planned - and the second shoulder learning to work almost as well minus one of its 5 rotator cuff muscles just like the first shoulder did. 

Right now I'm not as optimistic for #2 as I was for #1, but it's still early days. I'm only at the very beginning of the window various surgeons allow for not staying in the sling 24/7. For my surgery some allow it after 2 weeks, others go up to 6. I do know he won't order PT for me until after the 4th of July, which should be a good time to know what both Steve's needs/abilities and mine will be post his hip replacement so I can schedule mine properly. He can still get PT at home, while I'll be driving in and back for mine, and we'll both know more about other plans, like just getting in the car for things like visiting family, or heading to his fishing hole, or hauling the camera to Crex in hopes of that next great photo, since these days it's only shooting the new iris blooms in one of my garden beds. Soon I'll be going for the asiatic lilies down on the south end of our home, since they have multiplied way past even my highest hopes from last year and already need more weeding than I can give despite growing so thickly that even the rabbits don't seem to have a chance for a meal from them. Where last year a bulb produced a single stalk with two or three buds, and only if left alone, now each has grown to several stems with as many as 8 or 10 buds swelling on their tops. Even weeds are being somewhat controlled by their shade - Yahooo!

I still hope to get out to Crex, Steve to go fishing again this season - the independence means a lot to both of us. It's nothing like addiction keeping us examining our pain levels on a daily or even hourly basis. It's balancing right now against hopes for the next day/month/season. It's how much we choose to put up with at any given time, or day, or month. Every so often the shoulder eases enough that it's almost a surprise when it starts in again that it hasn't been constant all this time. I'm hoping the time comes when the pain recurring is what the surprise is: what, you're still here? That's how the first one has been for a while now, reminding me that I'm hauling around something heavier than it's supposed to be used to, like a full gallon of milk. Mostly it vanishes when overuse stops. I expect those same milestones for #2, even while discovering I'm actually thinking it should be catching up to shoulder  #1 weeks ahead of time, especially since I'm spoiled by the independence I've gotten used to by such simple things as the planned for change in seasonal wardrobe making dressing much easier this time, jumping over my expectations until I bump into reality. Oh well, learning curves. But having one arm that can actually hang the shower head up again is fantastic independence! Deodorant on both sides is a planned goal. (I can hear you laughing out there!!!)

I have iris plants on order, arriving in the mail these days, no driving required, and easily planted by one hand in a well prepared bed. Meanwhile I've been enjoying shooting the daily and even hourly changes in the circle garden where the iris have been blooming their hearts out. One daylily has poked up a stem with two buds, no clue yet what color. Therein lies a small problem. The daylilies will be crowding out the iris, which means by mid to late summer there will be lots of daylilies to dig out and give away. (No, I'm not charging: inquiries considered.) Judgment was solely by color first, then location second. I've promised my regular PT lady one each of small purple (grapette) and tall purple (Nosferatu) daylilies as a thank you for working with me over the months, both pre- and post- surgery. We fill the hard working repetitious therapy times with gardening talk, among other things. She will get the first two plants. Then as others show their colors (and I know there are at least two other varieties in there I simply do not like as much,) I'll be marking and digging those out to give away, first to friends, and second to other staff in the doc' office who were so interested in seeds from my tall balloon flowers. I can easily remove a likely couple dozen daylillies, individually root-bagged in plastic store bags, of  which we have bunches from those times we don't bring our own bags shopping. If I get those while blooming, the potential recipients can see what they're getting and know how hardy those are. Then I can relocate iris in that bed, still have three seasons of flowers, and give the best loved iris room to spread. By then I hope to have two working shoulders again!

How will I know how to spread the iris around, you ask? First, I've been taking regular photos, both of the area as a whole as blooms progress, and individual blossom to get the details. I know that won't be enough, especially as the daylilies try to take over and iris bloom turn to a puddle of mush. So I came up with a plan: mark each one. It wasn't enough to label one blue and another purple. First the blues come in a short and small dark blue, two tall pale blues slightly different in shades, and a short stem but large flower with white standards and dark blue falls. That's just four blues in all, and I already dug out two of the first little ones for the second iris garden. I know I planted ten or so of just that kind last summer. OK, then, how about purple ones? Are we talking burgundy purple, or deep violet purple? The burgundy comes with a rich blue in the middle of the falls and white/orange beards. Another similar one has no blue in the falls but a very deep burgundy, and is hiding orange somewhere behind some of the standards, besides having short beards. The deep violet come with spectacular orange beards... or none visible, and standing side-by-side are hard to tell apart for about three days. Then one of the pale blue ones decided to get so pale it turned almost pure white the next day. 

See my challenge? That doesn't even count the ones new last year which haven't bloomed yet, just made leaves so I can at least tell what species they are, as in iris instead of daylilies. I may or may not recall all of what I planted. For sure I can't remember exactly where. Whatever blooms will only  last a short while... much like my memory. I need better.

I opted for buying a box of wood tongue depressors - really cheap! - and writing my version of descriptions of each blossom for each flowering stem. Since we've moved recently, there are still a couple remaining rolls of clear packing tape in the house. I went high quality in those. We have sharpies, supposedly indelible. I figured write on the wood, cover it with tape to waterproof it (lots of folds in the tape), and add a loop of tape to go around the flowering stalk it described. Eventually what remains will be a woody stalk with a tag taped to it. That's the plan anyway. They can be moved into spots daylilies are taken out from. Late July or mid August would be pretty perfect timing for both plants. There will still be unidentified iris which didn't bloom this year, including a "Pagan Pink" and a "Grand Canyon Sunset" somewhere. I wrote down other names last summer but have no clue where they landed, and the plants were no help, so definitely a two-year project at best.

If you think this seems a great solution.... I'm waiting to see how summer goes and how tags survive. But the first issue was implementation in the first place. The ground is uneven, and every year my balance gets worse, exacerbated by having fallen a few times without being able to get up without help. No injuries, as such, but I've gotten very leery of this lumpy yard. Add a crowded garden with reluctance to step on what's growing in there. It's not possible to kneel on the outer ring and reach to the center, or at least without kneecaps any more. There are stepping stones into the center in one direction, but I don't trust them... yet. They need to bear weight through a full season so supporting soil adjusts.

Then a solution arrived. Her name is Tammy, a friend of family and rapidly becoming as family herself. She easily found places to step into the garden, and wrapped the tape holding the tags around the appropriate stems, one at a time.  Her timing was exquisite, the day before evening showers and a next morning storm. Earliest blossoms or damaged ones have curled into small lightbulb shaped balls, but the tags still declare their original colors. If new plants bloom in the next weeks it can be repeated as needed. As for the new plants ordered for the former rhubarb bed, I already have a chart in process, with variety names, on my laptop ready for printing once done, presuming all orders arrive, alive. I count one as "highly unlikely" to even show up since later clues pointed to a scam and photoshopped impossible colors attached to a plethora of alleged varieties, much a I'd love them to be real. Sighhh....

As an additional bonus, I just realized that Tylenol has been doing a lovely job while I've been writing this. Who needs Oxy when there's a garden to redesign? Unfortunately the Tylenol is still fairly short lived though the supply is sufficient. We found that out recently.  The hard way.

Steve has been having computer issues. We think it started with an attempted hacking, and his security system shut him down. That was months ago. We took it to a local shop, which cleared out the crap and reset his programming so he could use his laptop again. The problem recently repeated, stopping him from looking at his photos, playing a favorite online game which he enjoys even more because of a friendly rivalry with an extended family member many miles away, or even using his own funds (though none disappeared.)  With the reset he lost all his previous game scores and the two were no longer competing for top score. He was close to working his way back up until his laptop shut him out from everything except his e-books again. Some days he couldn't even access those. Some days he could read this blog but not see photos. We returned to the local computer fixer and the only staffer there that day was... let's just settle for a total prick, and leave it there. Steve's daughter came over and cleared everything off his laptop so he could reset and start over... except the starting over part didn't go well. Through me he contacted Microsoft to get his basic software back, and even though this was a recent purchase they didn't recognize him as a customer so that went nowhere. Aaarrrggghhhh!

This was the start of a lot of driving again, for me. So no oxy regardless of how my recovery was going. There was a trip to Walmart for Rx updates after he saw his doc. It's been his computer doing the grocery orders and paying the one monthly fee to get all delivered, so we were back to in-store shopping, an activity unfriendly to both of us. I hadn't gotten my replacement credit card yet so I couldn't order even for pickup. Steve put his laptop in a bag and took it along to Walmart where he'd purchased it. While he waited for a new Rx to be filled he went back to electronics and - miracle of miracles - found a fellow named Josh in electronics who knew everything his computer needed to get it up and working again, as soon as Steve was back home to put passwords back in. Steve was so impressed he contacted store management to sing the employee's praises! (We're rooting for Josh to get a raise.)

Meanwhile this was my turn not to just drive, but pull a cart around the store one-handed,  find people to help reach things for me on high shelves (thank you all!), load everything in the car, drive back home once Steve had finished, and haul bags up stairs, into the house, up onto counters, into freezer and fridge.... Let's just acknowledge the day as a royal pain for me, shall we?  Steve at least found a charged scooter/cart.

I might have considered opening that bottle of oxy and popping a pill. It was tempting... if I didn't know I had to drive the next day again. Steve got most of his computer functions back again, so long as he remembered his logins and passwords. Now I know I can't keep up with all mine, especially with old ones I just might need again. I also use "clues" with some of them so you have to know me to have a clue what it might be, and some times even I have issues. I was on Linked In for a while before deciding it had nothing to offer and only recommendations to beg from me. I tried after a couple years to get back in because somebody asked me to. Nothing I think I ever used as a password worked. That settled that. Eventually I located it, and realized I'd felt so pushed to get on the site despite no real interest, I'd used"armtwister" as a password. Pretty telling, right? Use it if you like it. I won't be back there.

But Steve really needed to get back into his credit union to manage his money, pay bills, keep track of his balances. He did all that online. But he lost his information letting him in. We love our Credit Union, and appreciate their safeguards for our finances. In order to get him back into his account, he needed to show up in person with various IDs, sit down with a staff person in their discrete little office, and reinvent the login wheel for his account. This time not only did Steve write it all down, but did what I occasionally do with other things as well: take a photo of it!  BTW I saw the photo: it's too blurry for me to read. We'll see how it goes for him in a few months, eh?

This involved a two hour drive into the metro and back, where Steve absolutely hates to go. We have to rely on me to both tolerate the congested cranky traffic and navigate the roads. This was the day after hauling shopping goodies all around, plus a short morning bout of planting some iris tubers which had arrived the day before. A light soak overnight, rain expected the next two days, and very shallow holes in recently turned soil easily made and covered with one good arm.  No oxy needed for the planting, of course. But that was the second longest drive I've made since the first shoulder had healed, still no oxy within miles. (Insert cuss words here. Your choice.) Double Tylenol once home.

Did I mention there was also the need for a large load of laundry? I'd been putting it off since just before surgery and needed to be somewhat presentable in public at least. The dryer is stacked over the washer, and I've developed a method for throwing clothes up into it involving more twisting from the waist and relying on inertia than rotating shoulders. Even so....

Yep, oxy would have been nice. I doubled up late that day on a couple more Tylenol doses instead, carefully counting amounts over each day. Eventually I took the sling - the replacement from the hospital one which is easier on the body and mind both for comfort and independence -  and set it on the floor on top of my socks so I could get some sleep last night. I have proved to myself now I can get in/out of it on my own. I can also mostly just hold my arm in the position the sling does for me. With the humidity this summer any rubbing against my skin is a huge irritant, so that new bit of freedom is a bonus. I make sure now to start my mornings with two Tylenol instead of just one these days, while I wait for things to settle down again. Mornings are an activity bomb. Steve is going back to online ordering groceries delivered to inside the front door, saving on some driving, but next week is his surgery where I'm the driver. No maybes, no but-what-ifs, I'm the driver. The last two days have been grueling, so if I wanted to be tempted, it's there. But the last few pills are still in the bottle in a location I'm not sharing with anybody, and more iris are in the mail as I write this, but still easily dug like yesterday's pair in the same well-prepared patch of good topsoil. I even have the forethought to have prepared a chart this time as to what has been planted, what will be planted, and where in that plot. Not just species and varietal names, but colors. I'm taking it more seriously this year. However much my shoulder whines.

 Did I mention thunderstorms? Last night (aka 3AM this morning) the sirens went off, lightning flashed non-stop, small hail and winds pummeled whatever they could. This photo was yesterday morning, part of the older iris patch needing relocations to give them the best chances of even better show next year(s).

This was this morning, also before the likely suppertime repeat storm expected. Hail isn't kind. It's nice to have a camera to prove what was fleeting glory.  You may note in both shots some of the tongue depressors used to label varieties while they were still identifiable. These shots remind me of part of what I'm working for.

These plastic tags from yesterday's planting remind me of why I keep working for improvement. In case you can't read the labels, this variety is "Painted Woman", two stacked blossoms shown per tag. I hope for better photos than on fading plastic next year... or the following one.

Oh, by the way, all this blogging happens to support my arm perfectly enough that I barely notice it until time to close the laptop and prevent it from crashing into the end table where it sleeps and recharges. I'm probably good till lunchtime, also known as "mail is here" time. A pair of shoes, the keys to the mail center, grab the camera, and I can see if the peony bush survived the night. I hadn't gotten a photo this year yet. It just fully opened these last couple days when I couldn't be bothered, and it's hiding behind the shed. Sighhhhh....

Ask me tomorrow... maybe.

So That Replacement Card Came......

I knew what it was the second I touched it.  I was disappointed because usually they come with a bit of thin cardboard so a random stranger can't immediately tell what's in the envelope. It's a good invitation for one to disappear for a couple days' worth of unauthorized use. But since I now had it in hand, I guess I couldn't complain too hard.

As soon as I opened it up they almost lost me immediately as a customer, even after all these years. And even though it would hurt my credit rating. Why? When I started reading through for a phone number to call to start the card working, the first thing on their communication was a QR code.

Have  I mentioned here that I don't do QR codes? I mean mention by not more than a dozen or so times?  I suppose it could be a "subtle" ploy to send me out to finally buy an expensive smart phone, figure out how to use the damn thing, add the programming to handle QR codes, learn how to use those, and finally set my new card into use.

Thing is, I pretty much know how much smart phones cost. No thanks. I don't have the credit card to cover one right now, thanks anyway, or not apparently till I use one with the QR code programming to set my new one up for use. Then I might be able to if I chose to do it. I guess some of you are starting to see the issue here, right? Or have you already had your smartphone surgically implanted somewhere in not too embarrassing a location to pull it out from for use in public? I do promise never to ask you where, nor what the logistics are for getting it recharged, or how long it takes to stuff it back where the cop who just pulled you over for using it while driving can't see it, so by the time they walk up to your rolled down car window they have no clue what you might have done with it in those last 5 seconds and are beginning to think you were an optical delusion. Honest!

Because even if you manage to pull that off I don't ever want to know how and never wish to perjure myself in court lying about it. No matter how much I care about you.

But even more pressing a reason is without that card activated I can't use it to buy the new phone I'd need in order to activate it by QR code. Just a tiny little dilemma here, right?

As I peel the card away from the paper it's rubber-glued to, a phone number magically appears. I can actually use old school tech to get my card activated!  WOW! Somewhere in that office there lurks in the shadows a human who actually realizes there are folks out here like me who refuse the universal call to turn ourselves into AI adjacent units of relentless commerce.

I guess I'll keep that company for a while yet.

Among The Not-Rich

 Every so often something comes along to remind me that not being rich has its benefits. Most of the time voices from all over work to persuade you that more money is a good thing, that spending it on whatever you want at any moment is wonderful, and that access to any heart's desire, however fleeting, is ever to be desired. In this country it's typical marketing, backed by the idea that the more you have to spend the more valued you are. Or important. Or something, presumably wonderful.

It's a rare day when a different reality sounds good. I'm not talking about not having enough food, or a home to live in of whatever variety appeals to you in terms of size and possible mobility so long as it is safe shelter, or even not having the price of necessary medical care or education. Sometimes an inexpensive life is just more peaceful, so long as you're not worrying about the true necessities.

We just got a reminder of that in our email boxes today. The mobile home park we live in is located along a lake. There are blessings and benefits to that. For many of our neighbors it means a high annual fee in addition to lot rent to lease dock space during open water season, which is paired with a requirement to relocate your boat whenever ice is a factor. A significant chunk of property here is storage for dock pieces and winter (tarped) boat storage. For most using it, life is made up of two seasons: boats in, boats out. We have no boat so rarely pay attention except to notice changes, the same way we note flocks of birds on the water or flying over it, or colors of the sky reflected in it. Steve can fish regardless, having a favorite spot along his favorite river and a permanent fishing license he earned the hard way. He'll fish from shore near the launch area, with a board on the sand with ridges to keep his folding chair from sliding into the sand and/or tipping, and will love the time spent regardless of catch or company. For him it involves planning and weather, not huge expenses.

So the note in our email caught our attention without being significant in our lives. All boats currently out at our shore docks must be pulled from the water and parked elsewhere (list of qualifying or verboten locations) by early Saturday morning. You will be notified as to when they may be returned. Failure to follow involves consequences (listed).

Now we haven't been here too long, so this is a first for us, even though it doesn't involve us. It turns out to be a climate thing this year. It's been too dry - not that inexperienced eyes might have noted how low lake levels have become. After all, we've had rain on a regular basis, and if I'm watering the gardens it's because of keeping new plantings healthy until they "take', not basic survival.

Now I'm not sure just exactly what we will be doing this coming weekend. For me it likely involves a reliable chair and one good arm pulling weeds. Add hat or sunscreen. For Steve likely some cooking shows on TV or another of his E-books on his laptop. It won't include boating, or fishing (due to crowds on weekends), or much in the way of hard work since my arm still needs to stay in its splint and Steve's hip hasn't been replaced yet. For sure it won't involve dropping whatever weekend plans there might have been to pull a boat out of the water and wait for permission to put it back in.

I did however just receive permission to dig out a tall bearded iris I planted decades ago, and bring it plus offspring over to this newer house's gardens. It's still thriving and blooming, and a fairly unique brassy/bronze color that's always stood out. It's a bit too early yet to dig,  but not too early to make plans for it. Good thing we don't have to move a boat, eh?

We're just not rich enough for those problems.

Early Iris This Year

These have varied and checkered histories. I had my own real gardens to plant back in 1991 back in east central Minnesota. Some things got overdone, some were whatever was cheap or available, some were things I grew up with, or missed because I hadn't. An example of the latter would be blue violets. We left a mobile home park with a tiny garden patch where violets thrived from my unique neglect to a huge yard with no restrictions as to what went in. One of the last things I swiped from the first garden was a small clump of violets. Aside from Arizona, I haven't lived without them since. Many of my neighbors where we are now consider them weeds, and the management hires weed killers to keep the lawns grass... mostly. Score around here has the violets winning, even if mostly in marginal beds where flowers and bushes are encouraged. Statuary as well.  Even various windmills and such. Just keep the weeds out. So in my spring border beds you will see blue violets and scillas announcing their survival of another winter, just ahead of crocus and daffodils, themselves ahead of tulips... and so it goes.

Some of the hardy survivors of that early garden were iris. With permission of the new owner, I dug out a few favorites. The two most removed were a short deep blue iris formerly next to some boulders in front of - from the street - a clump of paper birch. Those were the first bloomers this spring among my iris.

Being the hardiest of the transplants, they were well picked through when this year's new bed was planned. Single plants were often in clumps of five or six tubers, so I marked them while blooming and divided the largest of the clumps for a new home, leaving others around the outside of the raised ring to catch up next year... or try. As low as these are, it may be easy from this photo to note them growing in their own flat leaf foliage as well as clumps of daylilies. Those will be a topic for later this summer. 

I knew I wished more colors in future years. I'd have to wait for more iris to bloom, and should with lots of unique iris foliage in the garden, but meanwhile, a bit of light one-armed work while healing should be good for me, physically and emotionally. So for a while activities combine iris hunting, either at local garden centers or from favorite online sources, with an eye to new varieties as well as photo documenting older ones as they bloomeso I could make fairly intelligent decisions as to where to move things to and from through fall.

The most prolific iris I liked was a reliable pale blue bearded one. It had managed to spread over the years out into the grass and started to surround a huge boulder along the driveway and near the street. Digging up these occurred in three batches, and possibly this last time has finally removed them from the original yard, as desired. One person who was going to be given them as a gift - three different times - allowed them to die twice. A few weeks ago was my last attempt and so far has proven - with some help from her own family - to be successful this time. So far. ( She wonders why I don't share more plants with her.) Note the color is pretty uniform, the beard pale yellow, the petals not very ruffled. I just got an offer from a neighbor to take a few off my hands once she gets her own place for them, but a summer wedding is higher on her agenda.

 

The next iris from last year's transplant to bloom got a lot of attention, even more so than last year. I've also seen it under two different names in the catalogs. I bought this as "All Night Long", referring to the deep purple nearly black in tone, or as close as iris gets. The buds are close to black, giving it that name, but the similar one is called "Sharp Dressed Man". I presume that name comes from the bright orange beard both have. I have no photo with that second name and can't compare them to see if they seem identical or not. I suppose if a plant patent is in dispute, somebody can fight it out. There well may be several ways to similar results.

I have no name for this bloom, spectacular as it is in the garden. It does not match any of the descriptions of what I bought last year. The magenta is vibrant, the center of the falls a very rich blue which matches part of the blue in an otherwise gold and white beard. This was taken its 2nd day when light improved for shooting but petals faded a bit. Either way it was a huge "WOW!" and new stems remain so.

While the last one took our breaths away, it brought us closer to that part of the garden where this one was hiding low. Again, unnamed and undescribed in previous purchases. I found nothing similar in catalog shots. The white and blue are stark contrasts, and it took to the second day of shooting this one to be able to get the tiny yellow ruffle at the top edge of the standards to become visible to the camera. Wrong light? Need more computer foolery? At least there is a hint of it even if more shows to the eye. At least the beard shows yellow if the camera tilts enough to show it better, but that risks falling these days.

The abundance of light blue iris in the garden, like the upper left corner intrusion into this photo, did an excellent job of disguising this gem from us for a day. We kept waiting for it to color up, until good light showed us it had! And I had a name for it: Silverado! It's nearly white, not quite blue except deep where petals leave their stem. I'd been waiting for two years to see this one, and here it is. As differences dawn, we noticed that the petals have more frilled edges than any of the blue iris. Beards are more white. This stalk is full of growing buds, like the one popping up from bottom left, and it will carefully be divided in future years.

Again it was a different iris which pointed us to another one being something other than what we had been looking at already. That burgundy one left us thinking this was another of the same, just somehow lesser.  With a better view, I'd say not lesser, just waiting for differences to show up. Right now I'd say it looks like a sleeping kitten in its standards, and maybe a deep purple pillow supporting its head... plus a very bizarre collection of orange teeth! I'll be keeping a camera on this one and its subsequent blooms for a few days.

Meanwhile I've been placing orders for more. Sometime I'll hope to show what Cherry Fling looks like, and whether it looks as tasty as Butter and Sugar. You'll have to be as patient as I. Meanwhile I'm keeping a list of what is expected, what was ordered last year but not bloomed yet, and figuring out which daylilies will be gifted to others while they insist on multiplying 5 times faster than the iris do!

If I have to move again, I'll be sure I know where to dig for what to keep!

Getting A Replacement Card

It's not my first time needing a card replaced. Stuff happens, not everybody is honest. Even if they all were, other things come along requiring replacement sets of numbers. I've been with a particular credit card company over 20 years now. There has never been a problem replacing one, although my credit union goes way above & beyond the charge card company in simple terms of speed for putting a new card in my hand vs. waiting for the mail system to pop one in my mail stream. I can walk into my credit union lobby, any of over a dozen locations,  ask for a new card without a reason, have the old card cancelled and a physical new card in hand in five minutes... unless the line at the tellers windows is a bit longer. And one does have to actually get in the door to take advantage of that speed. It could mean over an hour round trip, possibly depending on a pre-filled gas tank, or desire to stop and taste somebody else's cooking. The first time that happened, card in my hand in minutes after walking in, it surprised the heck out of me. I'm so used to Steve's former banking system taking over a week to issue one to him... but he's now joined my credit union for its many advantages. No names dropped here, but I think his old cards were delivered via their stagecoach. Considering how often replacements were required, there may well have been an increase of bandits holding them up as they crossed through the old wild west. I guess they were a bit slow to the table for e-shipping gold bars across the country.

So this is not any kind of a complaint. I know, odd accents can be annoying when you're not sure you are communicating with another  person at some major call center in  particular.  While this person at the call center had an accent he also made sure I knew I was understood, and that he was as well. When I asked a question he had a prompt answer, every time. Unlike many people on the other end of that phone call he refrained from trying to up-sell me on their services. I appreciated that. Too many call-in services just can't leave that script where it belongs, in a bonfire somewhere, polluting the atmosphere. Not that I'm in favor of polluting, just believe up-selling a long term customer is wasteful. If I wanted to add services I'd have done it years ago. Neither of us is new to their system. Both of us can read.

Today I got the expected prompt internet survey on how did I like their company's performance in responding to my request? Hmmm, just fine, but with caveats. It's been too short a time for my new card to show up. I'm not disappointed today - yet - by the process taking the time it needs. But what happens if I change my mind? Say, if the mail is an extra two days late and I'm needing that new card already? I have no way to get back to them now with that bit of feedback, other than placing another phone call, and that puts my initial satisfaction level at a mathematically higher level than it had just become. By then if I am unhappy it's a whole new issue, for I just informed them I was 100% OK with their services, when now I'm only 50% OK. Lest you think the two balance out, note that my optimism for this call is already 50% impaired, while the combination of the two calls registers as 75% satisfied while I'm still believing in promises made, as opposed to maybe 63% unsatisfied  now until it comes to pass. The"when" of asking that question is significant. Add two more days now. My satisfaction might be a lowly 10% while my overall optimism is bouncing down at, say, 27%. The figures are unsteady, changing with promises kept, not promises made. All kinds of other pressures, moment to moment, vary them. Did I miss a deadline for a special sale, for example? Or perhaps been saved from my own impulsiveness?

Somebody in Marketing found a way to fudge the books... or will have by the time I know I'm disappointed with them. Tsk tsk tsk!  Now if they made that survey satisfaction call several days after they fell down on the job I'd know I was unhappy, but that doesn't get a chance to register. How much you want to bet another follow-up call is never made to find out what's happening when a full report is possible, meaning card is in hand?  

Same here.

Sneakey...........  

So how long till the Marketing person who found out the way to fudging the books on company satisfaction gets promoted to a higher enough salary that the head honcho starts looking at them favorably enough to promote them to the rank of "desired family-in-law member"? Just asking, FYI. I have my own collection of desired inlaws already, thank you, and none of it was dependent of sneaky financial manipulations on anybody's part. Just acceptance, kindness. communication.... Human traits.

Don't Mess With My Granddaughter!!!!

In a chat with my granddaughter, we got to discussing  various kinds of SPAM salesmanship. All of you who have never received such a missive from total strangers, however selfless and noble their intentions, can just skip reading any further. This will never be pertinent in your lives. Obviously you live in a totally different universe. Enjoy your stays there. For the rest of you.....

The following came in their inbox, then passed on to me to share.  Her contributions to the following are in BOLD and in "quotes."

"Hi (name deleted), this is Hana a from MN Remodeling. We are offering remodel estimates this week at no cost. Would you be interested?

Today @ 4:36 PM."

My granddaughter has not only her own sense of humor, but her own spunk when dealing with offers like these at the end of a tough day at the Day Care followed by piling her own brood in the car after locking up behind the last kids, with or without errands needed on the way home necessary to deal with supper, bedtime baths, and all the other impediments to plow through before she gets her own chance to unwind and prepare for the next day's rerun. We're not even needing to mention that her family rents their abode, doesn't own, and a remodel is years away from any remotely likely life agenda that might possibly concern her.

"Hi Hana,

Unfortunately after the raccoon incident of 2024, we are no longer legally permitted to remodel anything larger than a birdhouse. The county got involved after the jacuzzi was installed in the attic and the emotional support ferret escaped into the ventilation system. We are currently under observation by three separate agencies and a woman named Denise from Menards.

That being said, if your team has experience from structurally questionable medieval-themed basements and removing glitter from HVAC systems, we may be interested. Please respond with your favorite dinosaur and whether you've ever been banned from a Bass Pro Shops."

I am refraining from naming her as the originator of the above replay. I'm sure Hana already has all the information she needs to identify the sender of the reply and likely a team of lawyers preparing a decision on the desirability of whatever their chosen response is. Personally I think either their dog ate the ferret or one of the kids is keeping a huge secret suitable for therapy in their thirties. Regardless, I dearly love them all! I have carefully refrained from inquiring as to the precise impetus behind her thoughtful reply that particular day. But hot damn! That's my girl!!!!!

Slings

 OK, I do concede they are necessary.  Sometimes. Under certain circumstances. But can we please draw the line to where it says they have to actually BE Slings?  Pretty Please? Cream & sugar on it? Rube Goldberg contraptions just DO NOT QUALIFY!!!!  Yes, I'm firm on that!

OK, I can - when in a very unlikely mellow mood - which is seldom these days I admit - allow that the aforementioned contraption does ever-so-slightly resemble that thing called a sling. So does a tricorner folded big dishtowel. One just adds the proper knots in the effective places to help keep it in place and performing its function, and the resemblance is there. Resemblance is all I'll give you at the moment. If it still isn't wearable, how an anybody claim it has function?

Day before yesterday I dug around in a kitchen towel drawer, pulled out a "clean" folded dishtowel, refolded it into sling shape in hopes of sling function, and wore it... all the way to the local pharmacy, in hopes of getting a slightly more official looking replacement than that old towel. Comfort was the primary goal. I mostly got that. Function was iffy at times. I bought a new sling, the cheaper of two available in that store, folded up inside a small cardboard box.  Why go all out on expenses with that awful track record?

It was comfortable for a couple minutes. Steve adjusted things and function joined in the new game. We went to Arby's next door for a sandwich each, and the sandwiches eagerly joined in the game of ... decorating the new sling. 

Sighhhhh.

But you knew that was where I was going with that comment, didn't you?

At least the sandwich was still yummy, a Greek gyro with just a bit of extra cucumber sauce. Just a bit. Not even a lot of staining... I think. Laundry will tell us later. Right now I'm wearing it and don't actually care about any new color scheme. 

I didn't, as a matter of fact, wear it all night through. It did become annoying by that time, and the towel adaptation took the night shift. It was a comfy night, sleeping straight through, and I'm still deciding whether finding the towel wadded up in my opposite hand in the morning was, in fact, a factor in that assessment of comfort. I can in full honesty claim the arm did in no way ache in the morning... until, that is, the store-bought sling took over its assigned duty again, and I'm not talking decorating. I also was able to get it on and off by myself without problems, so Steve got the benefit of extra sleep from the plan.

I am looking for a single large bag. I do plan to return the black contraption to the surgeon next Thursday when I go in for my post surgery assessment. They asked for it back after the first replacement surgery, but the problem was they waited till 3  months after surgery to even bring it up. (Seriously: Who on earth or any other planet could possibly tolerate wearing it that long?) It had by then long since gone into the trash and presumably been deposited in some landfill somewhere.... Hmmm, ever wonder what a landfill's rainbow bridge really looks like? Or wait: smells like?) All except the little red ball added to the contraption in order to keep my hand strength up were long gone. Heck, fighting with my keyboard or even the handle of my coffee cup are enough to accomplish that. I fibbed a bit and said the ball went in the garbage too. She chuckled and assured me that wasn't a big issue, they usually replace those with a fresh (sanitary?) one for the next user.  I do suppose I could wash the ball... before the grands and great-grands are over here to play with it and whatever the current accumulation is, with or without any doggy or squirrel contributions to the yard microclimate, but why bother? The little ones are in daycare and EVERYTHING still goes in at least one of their mouths. What would I be saving them from by washing a little rubber ball? A hug from Great Grandma? Whatever got knocked off a leaf on my plant table as the ball bounced off the edge of the pot? Whatever their shoes dragged in when they arrived from home and crossed the newly mown grass here on the way to the door? Gracious! One of them would already have plucked and eaten a blade of it on their way up the stairs.

What will be happening at the doctor's office that first checkup, besides proof of life, (your choice, mine or his), is noting how many of my "dissolvable" stitches have or haven't lived up to their name yet, or whether all is sealed up without infection, or what amount of movement is back in that joint. I'm sure somebody will be sure to have checked that there really is another person with me to drive since I likely will still be on Oxy that soon post surgery. Yes, I'm only taking one 5 mg tablet first AM and one last PM, accompanied by a Tylenol each time, and supplemented (likely) by a solitary Tylenol mid day if needed, with a total of 26 pills or 13 days, starting from returning home after surgery. I won't be doing PT yet, though I will be moving the arm a bit already, especially for "hygiene". They insist on using that word and only that word because somebody in some family will likely fall over in dead shock when another family member uses a more typical word which plainly describes what the writer of the instructions is too wimpy to write out and/or too chicken to ask how to spell. Anyway, that's how I envision it happening and I'm sticking to it!!! (Yes, color me a fan of the ridiculous.) Especially now that I have finally figured out how to spell "hygiene".  Hey, these days meeting those little goals counts! Allow me some pride for Pete's sake! Better yet, do it for MY SAKE! I've been working here!!!! "Fun" is a word reserved for when I can be driving again! So.... sometime next month, after my pills wear out and well before Steve's surgery, because he'll be the one needing a driver then.

My biggest decisions then will be what to wear based on weather and "hygiene" needs, and what kind of food to bring along as opposed to hitting a fast food joint. If Steve wants company there will be a "what shall I read?" decision. The decisions I'm really looking forward to are which iris I transplant and into which bed with space left?  I'll need a single arm with mobility and strength by then. The marking stakes are going well, now with pale blue tall iris blooming. I should have about 6 more colors in the circle bed I hope to bloom soon so I can plan for those. Move or stay?  And then daylillies  need marking because of promises to share, and weeds to pull when things settle, and......... Yesterday I was already outside with the hose keeping the recently moved ones healthy, plus browsing online catalogues where a gift certificate was promised......

But hey...lunchtime!

Some Things Are Going Right!

 I know, all that frustration makes it seem like nothing is doing well. But there is some good stuff happening on the home front. Let's start with the garden. Remember last year when I couldn't give rhubarb away for free? Suddenly this year I have two neighbors who've been asking for and taking some. My lawn mower's parents are one, and a family across the street are another. This of course is on top of my having had Paul dig up two full plants so I could take them to a friend who loves rhubarb for baking. Miracle of miracles, she even had one of her grown sons home that day with some time to dig holes, plant, and water them, before he went to work. Last time I looked, her new plants were doing well. That later day was when I also dropped off some pale blue iris for her to plant. She's been asking for the iris for a couple years, and managed twice to kill them without getting them anywhere near in the ground first.  Hmmmm, some interesting cause-and-effect at work, eh? That second day her same son was home, again with time,  and the iris were also planted per my instructions!

Yeee haaaaa!  (Now we'll see if anybody remembers to water.....)

More good garden news: Everything I've planted this spring, including trans-planted to a different site, is thriving in my own garden spots.  So far one thing is on order, a very unusual plant  but also very inexpensive, so I fully expect another year or two before see the blossom results. Meanwhile I ordered some wooden tongue depressors. Together with colored pencils and clear tape folded over that will work for marking "this plant right here blooms in this color" when it's time to dig and relocate later in the season.

I fully gave up on my gawdawfulll hospital "sling".  I put up with the first one for a longer time, but my body has been reacting to the 2nd one sooner than before and I really and truly hate itching. So I dug out an old dish towel, folded it into a triangle, knotted corners together, forced it over my head (fun!) and have been using it to keep my arm somewhere close to where it's supposed to be, hopefully for a few more weeks. It's not perfect but it IS TOLERABLE!!! Meanwhile the local pharmacy opens soon and Steve will be driving us up up there to  see - because these guys specialize in service -  if they can come up with something between the comfort of a towel and the sturdiness of the rigid poking plastic torture chamber. Fingers crossed. I'm NOT going back to the hospital one but I do see the point of more firm restrictions of arm movement for the next few weeks. The staff will know and have no qualms about emerging from behind their counters and guiding me straight to whichever necessary item is my necessary item du jour.  I will happily pay for that service, especially since it's semi-free. I just have to wait a couple extra hours till they open to get it taken care of. I can be patient, right? Right? C'mon, just say "YES" and we can get on with this. 

Just two more hours or so and suddenly I'll look up and reflect, "Pain? What pain? When did that go away? Was it when I was watching the morning news from the airport? You know, that part where they were showing off a new robot bartender in a new gaming section, that bit where it had to shake the cup of beverage and ice but apparently wasn't programmed to put a lid on the cup first? Yep. it might have been then, come to think of it. I hope they put that sequence in their permanent blooper files! It was so unrepentently, spectacularly wrong Wrong WRONG!!!! Hmmm, I wonder if the stuff splashing all over the counter damaged the gizmo's robotic bartender arm too at the time, or it just ran out of go-juice? And was the counter stained for good? Because I'm sure not washing it!!! Oops, nobody slip on the ice there..... Is there a bartender somewhere here? Anywhere? Janitor...? Lawyer? I hear a lot of money went into making this place....

But yeah, I'm pretty sure that was when the arm pain went away..... for a bit.

Or maybe it was just waiting long enough after the Oxy got swallowed spent in chasing down typos that fixed it?

Or..... "Server still not found...."  Oh yeah, Steve remembers an email... work being done somewhere, no internet..... was that till after supper?  Hooo boy !!!! Hmmm, the garden needs a  drink..... Uhh, apparently so does my shirt... and these shoes..... oops. I'm going to pretend that was a mistake.... want to join?

Noting Differences, Not Just Swearing At Them...As Much

OK, more details. First shoulder surgery:  I'll start with the waking up part., smooth and easy, not a care in the world. The second time around I woke fighting, not just noting people were talking around and over me. I was convinced I wasn't breathing. I had to force my diaphragm to expand and contract, suck in air, expel the spent fumes. It didn't feel like I was doing it naturally, and worse, nobody was noticing. I tried to tell people I wasn't breathing but the person next bed over, on the other side of the curtain, needed attention. Nobody noticed me even when I managed to push a word out, to sound an alarm. I knew the anesthetic could affect my lungs, so I didn't dare let my attention lapse from controlling my own breathing. It  took several terrified minutes before I felt breathing would continue without my consciously working at it.

Not my idea of a good time. Nor of being looked after. Obviously I survived the experience, but I hope never to repeat it.

It's not the same as forgetting details. After all, who  could forget thinking they couldn't breathe? I forgot I had to wait 7 days post surgery before being able to remove a sticky dressing in order to get a complete shower. I had to call the doc's office and ask them when it was OK. 7 full days. I am so yearning to rinse a ton of stinging salt off me. Summer sweat is here! But the incision needs a full 7 days to seal completely, to fully keep germs out. Infection is their one big worry, the thing most likely to cause implant failure.  As the patient allergic to medical adhesive who once peeled adhesive tape away after surgery, and both watched and felt it peel my skin off with it, it's kind of a big deal for me. I insist that EKG stickers get an alcohol wipe before the staff forget where one was stuck. I may be the only person who isn't actually amused by looking like I just "enjoyed" carnal relations with an octopus. The one time I lost so much skin with the tape it took a week extra to heal, and alcohol swabs were required to prevent infection starting.

But Hurray! Tomorrow is full shower day!

Another difference is pain. I started in with Oxy the first time in the hospital because it was recommended, if that's what you call a hand holding one out to you along with some water. and it indeed did prevent pain successfully..... Or maybe..... I just took it third day in, everything else wore off and I needed it. So I'm doing a morning and evening dose now, knowing my body is starting to complain. Last time there were more tablets than in this bottle,  30 then, 20 now, so I'm waiting to see if I will need the previous dose, which seemed to wear off simultaneously with need. Mostly any pain this time is when the straps don't seem to be holding my shoulder high enough. It feels like it's pulling apart, and the mirror shows a strong low slant instead of level shoulders. While some straps dig painfully in, others are too loose. I pull what/where I can. No happy medium. Where they dig into my neck the hard plastic scratches. Same with shoulder blades. I hate this "sling" contraption worse than the previous one, but I figure mostly that's less skin protection from summer fabrics.  OK, I asked for that by waiting for a warmer season, but that was for ease in bathroom duty. Is any of this making sense? This may well be why I'm not legal to drive for a few days or weeks.

Today I put on very baggy shorts and didn't need all the assistance moving clothing. Steve seemed a bit disappointed by that, but I noticed he didn't seem to miss the constant waking out of a sound sleep! Or maybe he just likes turning it into our private game, like I do. Either way, he has thanked me for interrupting an unpleasant dream, so there's that, anyway.

There are still parts of the contraption which dig painfully into my arm, especially with any movement. Losing it will be a joy! The ultimate goal will be having enough pain meds to match pain supplied.

One benefit from past experience has been learning the value of grocery deliveries. Not just talking getting it to the yard, but up the porch stairs, or even inside the front door.  Especially with gas prices right now. Part of my OT before being allowed to leave the hospital was demonstrating getting groceries up the stairs. Safely! So... sideways or even backwards. AND THIS DOESN'T EVEN START WITH PLANS TO REPLACE THE NOW UNSAFE FRONT PORCH, A WHOLE 'NOTHER TOPIC SAVED FOR A DAY WHEN I CAN FIGURE OUT I'M DOING FULL CAPS BEFORE I HAVE TO DELETE / RETYPE!

Second Verse, (Not) Same As The First! !

First, expect typos and worse. I just deleted everything I just wrote - no clue how - and am trying to recall what I was writing. Shoulder #2 is fixed, healing in its contraption to prevent movement or comfort plus all illusions of competence, and from the moment the IV ports and nerve block went in, everything was different from last time except for the side, hospital, and surgeon.  My only comfort at times like this is having an excuse. Plus Steve doesn't tell my he's upset when I stare swearing at whatever latest thing is going wrong!

I just had to reinvent another paragraph! Arrrrggggghhhhhh!

Lesson one: all is different when you lose the strong side, and I'm very much a lefty, the side in the contraption now.

I am able to do some things, such as the aforementioned swearing. In fact, competence is growing! I made coffee, though only half a cup.The rest of breakfast was all finger food. Luckily I planned for that. Triscuits, banana chips, and chocolate chips. No scolding! There have to be a few benefits to this, right?

On the other hand I can wake up freezing because the house was very warm when I went to sleep in the middle of some show (???) and woke in the wee hours without blankets. Too groggy to remember I needed a bathroom assist with relocating pants to wake Steve first for his favorite part of being able to help me brought the predictable results. Luckily by then I got my brain in gear, did necessary things in necessary order with necessary assistance, and returned for necessary sleep with a much needed blanket. 

(You thought I was going to repeat "necessary" again, didn't you? Instead, after replacing ALL the "r"s with necessary "e"s I changed course.) In the meantime I got much more practice with swearing at stock reports and some weird kind of notifications which keep intruding on my screen from the right side. Note I never use those, don't give a flying fuck how stocks are doing, am not invested in them nor ever wished to be, and have no earthly idea why they keep popping out. Same with the bloody notifications. I have managed to figure out how to get rid of them - DANG IT AGAIN! - for a minute or so.

They have persuaded me to hang it up for now.  I'm fine... sort of.

Stages Of Waking

Dreams are funny things. By funny I don't mean laughing-funny, I mean weird-funny. I'm one of those people who often wakes out of a dream and thus remembers some of it for a very brief while. A few minutes later I'm aware of having had one but the details.... rarely recalled, just a feeling, an awareness I had been dreaming. More than that is unusual. Occasionally later in the day something will prompt that feeling to return, but totally without any context.

This morning is a good example, though bits of memory exist. The main part of the dream was about swimming across a wide river I identified as the St. Croix, somewhere around Stillwater. as judged by wideness and how populated it was, though all landmarks were missing It was just a flat, calm river, brownish water somehow clear, not dirty. The swim was totally enjoyable. There had been a point to swimming and who I was swimming with, something to accomplish, but already fading.

I was there with people I know. Who? No clue, just identified as people I knew and was talking with during the swim. Who expects logic in a dream? I don't, during the dream or in retrospect. But at some point we were done swimming and it was time to get out of the water. I needed to call my parents.

So I did, partly while still in the river, partly up on dry land. I complimented them on having such a nice river to swim in. It never occurred to me to question why this was their river of course, just something to say while I was checking in.

Around that time, the real world started to intrude. An actual thunderstorm was going on outside, welcomed in an awake state to water newly planted flowers in the gardens so I didn't have to haul a hose around later in the real day. It was expected and welcomed, as well as interrupting the dream. Rolling over kicked my bad shoulder into complaint, completing waking me up out of the dream, and the few steps to the bathroom progressed through a series of ideas as I finished shedding the dream. First, I was glad it was a nice call with my parents.  The sudden change in head position produced a bit of vertigo, where I bounced into the wall next to the door frame and had to cling for a couple seconds instead of falling, coupled with it occurring to me to recall my actual age and wonder if I'm this old, how old can my parents be? Now stable in balance and again walking normally toward my first morning goal, I realized  both of my parents had died over a decade earlier.  Our phone call hadn't happened.

Yep, there it was. I was now fully awake, back in the real world, aware of the needs of this particular day, and enjoying listening to rain on the roof. It was still in the one-o'clock hour though I'd never remember just where, my shoulder ached, it a was time I could take my thyroid pill but still had to wait for my Tylenol another hour to kill the ache if still needed, and wait for daylight to check the rain guage to see how much rain we'd have gotten by then. Since I was now fully aware, what was on the TV, recorded since I went to bed? I needed to change position to a sitting one, meaning the room with the television. Or maybe back to sleep?  Or maybe I should blog first, since I had a topic? If I went back to sleep it would have vanished in its entirety.

Hey, at least it wasn't one of those dreams where I couldn't find where the car was parked! Even while in bed during those, a part of me knew I wouldn't be able to walk that far in order to locate my car wherever it was, as these dreams happened before my knee replacements. Those themes were the usual way my brain was getting used to my retirement, taking away my car, my ability to identify streets and towns I needed to go to, nor could I read the labels on the packages so I could tell where to deliver them. I still recall one in a dream going to Appleton but nobody would tell me if it was the one in Minnesota or in Wisconsin, and I needed to hurry! And whatever building I happened to be inside of, there was never an acceptable bathroom to be used, lacking stall doors or anything more than an open hole on the floor, a broken pipe protruding a few inches. I just couldn't go there!  I decided, as the shock of waking from those dreams happened, that was a very good thing!