Another Crex Photo Contest.

The submissions are in, at least from me. I admit to needing help this year, not with the photos per se, but with getting them onto the form to send in via computer. My granddaughter is much more computer literate than I am, and welcomed a visit. No taking 8 x 10 photos over by hand, no writing out information on each one like my name, contact info, title of the shot, location of shot (very restricted area qualifies) and the modest submission price to cover their turning my electric file into an 8x10, mounting all submissions, and printing out voting sheets. In each category anybody who walks into the building can vote in each category for top places, with a final vote for best in show. You have to actually show up for that. It opens the 24th and closes... well, it's written down somewhere here in the house. Or check online.

My skills are fine for moving a thumbnail out of my photo files, onto my desktop, and then onto a standard email or into my blog. I admit it took me a long time to figure out the blog glitch. I needed a hole to drag the thumbnail into, meaning it needed a line of text both before it and after it with a line of space in between. It was by accident of course. Nobody ever explained it. One day it worked, the next months it didn't, but eventually I tired it again and again until I finally figured it out.

Here's my space, created ahead time to go back and plunk a photo into. This photo above I'm calling "Butterfly Magnet" and its category is wildflowers. I could have done it featuring the butterfly instead, but here it is. What else is the point of a flower?

This one goes there too, and is simply called "Blue Wall." It's not that I have high hopes for it, but we are allowed/restricted to two photos per category, and I figure paying for more photos is a way to both have fun submitting, and supporting them from the modest fees for entering. I have been known to email them an occasional photo for permitted use if they like it, unconnected to their contest, just for the fun of what it shows, not for any hope of being in a contest. But that is still the most fun, and the only way to see what others are shooting.

Landscapes are another category, and this particular shot, "April Reflections". is hard to get unless you go there in early spring  after ice is gone but before the trees leaf out and the water between them and shore hasn't filled up with water lilies yet. It's actually the first time I'd gotten there that early in the year. The clouds were just a bonus. Like most details they show much better in reflections when the photo is up to an 8x10 size, what all submissions are printed out in for viewing.

My personal favorite shot for this contest is this one, taken late last September. I'd finally, in all the years going there, figured out where Fish Lake was. I know, it's on their maps, but I just needed to figure out a reason to go there when the lake is mostly hidden in trees with little direct shore access. Most visits already take enough time that I never explored further. Once I finally did, I managed to notice the sign to the boat launch, the only feasible way to actually reach the water. The road ruts there are so deep my little car was bottoming out unless I steered with one side in the high middle and the other on a high side, rather than in the ruts other vehicles had made through the years. There's a strip of land at the end of the road in that's wide enough for a boat to get backed down, though in the times I've visited since finding the spot I've never seen sign of a boat there, nor a trailer bringing one. I managed to walk down avoiding the plentiful poison ivy.

This was just after last year's contest when "night landscapes" was a category. I never had a night shot there, period. I decided I wanted something where I could take advantage of lake reflections and the direction I wanted to shoot in , from west to east, didn't yield close water access along a wide uninterrupted stretch of open water. Maybe a full moon? Finding the boat launch was perfect. So was the calendar. I knew the harvest moon was coming up, though that was  before hearing that technically this was the second full moon in the month so it was officially the Corn Moon, so the harvest moon would be in October. Almost nobody I ever talked with got that message - but not my problem.

I thought my opportunity was spoiled when it rained near the time to leave for the shot. Plus I had a 40 minute drive to get there. But it finally cleared, leaving rainbows locally, and on impulse I decided to head over and see what I could see - or even better, shoot. The storm had moved off to the east, but the clouds were so tall, that while the sun was setting behind me their tops were high enough to catch the sunset colors. I had to wait for the moon to clear the lower clouds, but I arrived just in time to blitz about 20 shots before all the light  was wrong. Nobody else was around who could have gotten a similar shot. It could only happen from that side of a lake, and few opportunities exist in the allowed photo area with a road along the west and enough open water for the reflections.   "Corn Moon Rising After The Storm" should be completely unique. I make a point of that after last year's contest where nearly all the submissions were a night with auroras caught in sky and lake, so similar that when I was voting I couldn't tell enough difference between them to pick a favorite. 

So many years the same bunches of photos come in. There are a lot of breeding trumpeter swans in that area, so water shots often are loaded with those for the bird category. Of course sandhill cranes are a huge draw as well, but the 30,000 acres hold a lot of other birds to shoot in addition. I've done my share of trying all of those. Lots of other people do it better. Sometimes I have to go for unique instead.

This is a trumpeter swan, taken in early April. The day I was there I shot photos of three different swans in this position, one I'd never seen before.  So... try going for unique. Research informed me they were working to regulate their body temperature by sprawling across the water like this. They had just migrated north and ice was recently out, so I could make a case in my head for them either warming or cooling themselves, and spent hours arguing both cases against the other. Mostly they looked exhausted, as still as they were sprawled, only the head barely moving for proof of life. I opted to title this one based on that impression, so this is "Don't Wake Me Till Saturday!"

I had another unique-for-me shot from years back that I spent weeks hunting fruitlessly for after our move back north. I finally gave that one up as a lost cause, along with a huge bunch of Crex photos from previous years, completely within the timescale of shooting allowed. I did however have a set of "nearly as good" shots, if I could ignore lying to myself about how settling for one of those would be OK.

The lost shot was a close-up of an eagle next to the road, peering down intently from its perch on a dead tree spike at what I presume was its intended dinner on the ground. I'm still frustrated that file disappeared. Another time in the same general location I caught this pair up in a dying tree. Both the two perches no longer exist. At some point in the intervening years they have been removed, possibly while doing controlled burns, possibly removed as hazards, especially likely to fall from storms or too much human attention. This "consolation submission" I call "Double Eagles".  (No, I do not golf. If I did I'd be making triple bogies instead of any eagles.) In a different shot taken within minutes of this one it appears that a rudimentary nest had been started on a crotch of the same dying tree. The eagle on the right sits next to it in that shot but was moving its head as the shutter clicked, then turned its back to the camera. That's what you get with wildlife.

One of these days I will have to ask where they are nesting these days. I've been assured some are still within the area. Most years a staffer will happily point out what's special in which location that day, like a wolf den entrance along a road that season, or a drying pond holding a dozen great blue herons scarfing the more easily available fish, or even three stray whooping cranes joining the sandhills before migrating south. This year's greeter isn't quite so forthcoming with information.

I referred above to night landscapes last year. It was a special category that one time. This year the special category is "Animal Families". It has to show both adult(s) and young in the same photo, interacting. I have bunches of those in Canada geese families as well as trumpeter swan families. It's the main reason why I keep going there, of course. I manage the occasional crane with a colt, or even a doe and fawn I entered last year... but I entered that one last year. The shots I selected for that category are pretty much what everybody gets, and most of those much better. But as I've said, much behind these is to support Crex. I go there to shoot pictures when I can, rather than shop in their store. So these are my way to give back.

This turkey family along one of the roads is just two from a string of them, picked not for numbers of birds since I was too close in my car to get a wide angle, but for the best color in the adult. I had fun watching them in small groups scooting into the grasses and popping out again, presumably with a meal. I rarely get this close to wild turkeys, but this one reminds me of a time when I was working and pulled into the dock area of a business only to be attacked by turkeys defending "their" territory. What stuck with me the longest was how blue the head and neck of the meanest one was. At least these were shot with a good zoom lens!  The car managed to keep pace with them for a bit, until they stayed hidden in the grass, but the only title which came to mind was "Turkey Trot".

There are a lot of possibilities for "shooting" Canada geese in open water where the family is gliding along. Sorry, but BORING! I got this family stretched out along the edge of a pond next to the road. This one was my favorite even though it only shows five of the goslings of the seven in another shot. I figured this family was as successful as it was because they were playing "Hide and Seek In The Rushes".
There are a lot of predators both from above and below that find them quite tasty, and later season shots tend to show smaller families.

If any of this gives you a desire to see even better photos in the contest, go visit Crex later this month if you'd like to vote, or all during the coming year since all the submissions are displayed in the visitor center lobby until the next contest. It's on the north side of Grantsburg, WI. That's close to Minnesota on US 70. The town has a nice campground if that's your thing. If you want to get your own shots, maps are available for free of the wildlife areas. Just be polite and drive slowly so as not to raise dust clouds or scare the critters into hiding or flying. Everybody is welcomed, free of charge.

Not Your Ordinary Party

 

Note that this post has been delayed for for over a week. It paused from frustration and my need to de-stress, and paused again for other things I needed to say instead as the days went by.  Some of what is written about, as in present, future or past, is a fubar jumble from where this one will land. You may have already read some  of it in previously published posts.  I don't feel like apologizing or huge rewrites. Read it or don't. I'm kinda busy lately. But weird stuff happens when hours worth of organization don't reach those it's planned for. Murphy must have been on the party planning committee with me.

Steve had planned for his 83rd birthday party for nearly a year, including this time having no cake.  His last two birthdays he'd ordered a nicely decorated one from the local bakery, fishing decorations in both frosting and in edible decorations on the top, like a boat, fisherman, and line, the end of which had always snagged a huge fish, regardless of the actual fisherman's luck. But it's been a hard year for justifying something that expensive. So the plan had simply been to invite family to our home, grill burgers and hot dogs, and hold a nice potluck. He didn't even shy from the idea of everybody singing "Happy Birthday" to him, though both of us are the two known musical tune carriers in his family and find it close to torture to smile through the dissonance some times.

I have discovered that it happens in the families of good friends as well. I'm learning to experience it as a minute of joy, and concentrate on the good wishes expressed. This year the way things turned out, nobody got around to singing anyway. The good wishes were all still there... despite everything else.

With Steve in a rehab facility, we weren't having the party at home. First step was to talk to them and find out if, huge as they are, they had some kind of party room we could hold his party in. Yes, and I got a tour through the maze of halls and turns to a large room with tables and chairs, a small sink, and an adjoining bathroom which was well furnished with grab bars, as well as being large enough for anybody in a wheelchair plus their attendant. I was shown the closest door to it in relation to the parking lot, and another door opening out back to a large grassy area with a large swing up a small hill. One needs a code to go through those doors even in daylight hours since there is no staff overseeing comings and goings like the main entrance has.  I wrote that code down and memorized it. It turns out that after hours - however those are defined - one needs to call staff in order to leave even the main entrance. Of course that code lets you leave without having to call somebody and wait for them to be able to reach you in this fairly distant wing, but nobody explained that fine point to us. Somebody who'd been given the code to get in for the party simply typed it in without asking if it worked and we found out it did, though this was well after cleanup when we were last ones out. We did discover that holding the door open for the last straggler did manage to set off an alarm. As it shut off as soon as the door closed, and nobody had come to check on us during that delay, we just left. Why wait around to make an explanation? Especially when nobody seemed to be bothered.

Part of the "fun" of this facility is the maze. On my second visit I was able to navigate to Steve's room with minimal wrong turns. It took my fourth visit to leave without asking staff's directions. Going from his room to the party room... I'm saving that part for later. At least eventually there were signs so we knew we were heading in the right direction. They just didn't say "Party Room" so people had to pay attention to what they hadn't learned they needed to pay attention to. By the time we all knew they needed more information we just extended the line of people so one could always see somebody familiar ahead of them.

Oy! But I'm getting ahead of myself. Guess I'm not totally de-stressed yet.

As bare-bones as the party room is without a kitchen, and a big part of the menu being grilled burgers and dogs, the first question had to be could we set up a charcoal grill outside the building? Nope! OK, grill at  our place and haul the cooked meat over. Only 4 1/2 miles door to door. So what if they cool a bit? As planning progressed, the family bringing the meat (their present to Steve) wound up with delays in arrival. So the party started almost two hours before the meal was ready.

 The family includes grandchildren from independent adults to elementary school age. Then there are great-grands from preschool to elementary. The youngest needed something other than adult conversation and some food to keep them happy. It's becoming a tradition for Grandma to provide a cardboard playground to keep them busy, then recycle the remaining pieces afterwards, however many loads into the recycle bin it takes. The huge new furnace box has been occupying the living room just waiting for kids. It was finally time.

My very helpful son not only came over with his keyhole saw the night before to cut all kinds of interesting and varied holes in the "tunnel" with different sizes, shapes, and folding spots for hours of creative play. He even vacuumed the carpet afterwards. The cardboard crumbs were more like sawdust! At least they match the color of the carpet, so nobody will know if any got missed. I won't tell!

For the littlest people, the monster furnace box became their playground while they waited. The person with a pickup who could have hauled it over to the party area to a large patch of grass outdoors, or inside if weather required, was tied up at work. An angry customer and cops were involved and we still never have heard the story - but we will ask next time we see him - so the families with the little kids arrived at our house with a box to play in, well before heading over to the rehab center and the official party. At least there were snacks for the wait.

One of the kids had informed his mother a few days earlier that he had plans for destroying the box this time. He's been excellent at doing it in the midst of play during other visits with normal boxes. I assured her that he'd have a difficult time with this box since any box holding a furnace for shipping has be be extra strong. And frankly, any inroads he could make - or all four who used it together - would be helpful to me by saving work in recycling preparation. It turns out that the box still sits on the living room floor as intact as Paul made it after his saw redesigned it. The kids even got up on top of it hoping to squish it flat, and while it bent slightly under the largest one, as soon as she got down it returned to original shape.  Every time I look at it I wonder if there's a daycare in the area that would love to haul it to their location and turn kids loose on it... with a promise of recycling of course. Otherwise it's the saw and a vacuum again. I'm really not interested in keeping it long enough till the next big family event, Thanksgiving. There's not really a place to store it out of the flow of traffic, and right now, on that point, it's good Steve isn't here having to figure out how to avoid it.

(Note that this problem was solved days later by a neighbor. Not the Steve part, the box part. You may have read about it already.)

Steve was in a wheelchair for his mobility getting to the party. He didn't know where it was since I was still figuring it out myself in that maze, and I couldn't push him around the place by myself with my shoulders still having restricted activity even if I weren't tied up at home. So a good friend of his went over early, was directed to his room, and spent time with him while waiting for all the rest of us to show up. I had gotten such great assistance from the weekday staff in locating the party room, checking out the facilities, etc., that I made the huge mistake of thinking that the weekend staff knew what was going on and how to get Steve there. 

I had sent out long emails documenting which main entrance to go in and where from there, passed the code for the doors on to all, and thought that was what was needed. It is totally simple from the parking lot, just go in the door  next to the huge chapel which cannot be mistaken for any other purpose, put in the code, see the room door under a huge clock up near the ceiling as soon as you walk in, and it will be the only large room, off the area,  full of tables and chairs with a bathroom off the corner. Much easier done than described... in theory.

First problem is not everybody read the email. Some ignored it, others had changed their email addresses and nobody told me. Even so, when they showed up at our place, I made sure they heard "door next to the chapel"  and a reminder to use the code for the door, in the same sentence as questioning that they did in fact have the door code.

That means, of course, they all went in the main door by the flagpole instead.  Sigh! That is the front desk, but it's not staffed on weekends. Every bunch of people had to hunt for somebody who knew, first, how to find Steve's room since they at least knew his name, and then find staff who could point them to the party room from there.

Remembering the words "next to the chapel" would have made a huge difference. Instead the staff    directed everybody to a small room with a table and a few chairs that is often used for a group of visitors or even a patient plus staff conference meeting. It's as far away from the party room as is possible to get in that facility. It was also completely packed, no room to move. 

When I arrived in the proper location the party wasn't there! It was my turn to hunt up people, starting with finding staff who knew where our party had been relocated to despite having reserved the large party room. It was, crammed, everyone was hungry with no plates or anything since all that was in my car, with nothing to keep little kids entertained to be found. 

That family left early. There was no communication to the outside because the walls of the building are solid concrete block and cell signals don't penetrate. I'd had to stay behind to make sure the grill cooked all the meat, the coals were quenched, and the house was locked. The rest of the people made the best of it until I arrived.  I finally tracked them down,  then led the way to where it was actually to be held, but only because my son had stayed back assisting in the grilling, had a key to our place to lock up, and sent me on my way about half an hour before the meat finally arrived. I arranged for everybody to parade through the halls carrying what they needed to, snaking around corners to the proper location, occasionally waiting for folks to catch up instead of getting lost a second time, until we arrived in the actual party room.

We have no plans to try that again!

Of course we didn't have plans for how it turned out either, but once we were all together in the right spot we had a good time... mostly. Gifts were opened, tables spread,  stories told. One of the adults who'd been grilling got violently ill, had to leave with his family early and stop at the hospital after somebody insisted it could be appendicitis from all the symptoms. After sitting in the waiting room for three hours, waiting for blood test results that was so delayed the blood coagulated and the staff asked for another sample, he was totally fed up and walked out. So far as we know, he's been fine since, so it must have been something he ate before the party since nobody else was ill.

Steve got to see most of his local extended family including some he married into on my side, except the ones stuck at his job dealing with the cops.  He never made the party. Steve's friend who had arrived at the rehab facility early to keep him company, stuck around long enough to wheel him back to his room afterwards, so he had a  good time all the way through, and his friend did as well. (Or if he didn't, I never heard about it, nor did Steve.)

I've asked for email addresses from those who have changed theirs, as well as asking other family members who did have those newer email addresses, could they please send them off to me for the next party we will be planning or whatever family communications?  Of course nobody has sent me any yet. We'll have to find new problems for the next party we try to throw since we trust nobody will be in that same facility recovering from major surgery again. Since those parties tend to be in snowy months, I figure I don't have to do any work  in arranging problems. The weather will do all the work for us. Even for people who can't/won't read  emails they still know where our house is, so the weather may have to get creative. It would tend to fit in with this year.

I just need to come up with more boxes by then for the wee ones. Please, no more new furnaces needed for box donations!

If you've managed to stick with this post for this long, here's a bonus reward: Steve gets to come home Friday. He's been working hard on his PT, walking with his walker, using their stationary bicycle, getting himself in and out of bed, and finally working on stairs today. The surgical crew stopped by since he couldn't come visit them, pronounced his surgical site to be in good shape yesterday, bandages and stitches now gone. His insurance will allow (pay for) the extra days until Friday. He'll miss the Friday bingo game, but not enough to stay, and after winning three prizes last week, somebody else will get a chance! On top of all that he'll have three weeks of Jeopardy recorded on the TV to watch when he gets here. My reward is not just having him home, but that he didn't ask me to save the weeks of all his cooking shows on the DVR for him to watch to make up  for all that time missed!  What a guy!

Preparing For The Next Storm

The forecasts changed from "not gonna get here" to "it will likely rain" to watching the radar images slide our way. Tornadoes were possible... just not here, at least. Morning news showed damage from elsewhere in the state. But lightning was steady and strong through the system, which I verified for myself from the Real Time Lightning Map which remains bookmarked among all the other reliable weather sites bookmarked on my laptop, up to and including Space Weather.com.

(OK, that last one mostly never affects what happens here but it does indicate interesting things in the sky should we ever get cloud free night skies.  Dream on! It was useful in Arizona though.)

Anyway, I had to get busy before hitting the sack. My son had just been over, despite still having 80-plus degree temperatures and high humidity until sunset, at a level a local TV forecaster refers to as "air you can wear." He was demolishing the rotting porch/stairs combo outside the door facing the street. No, we never liked it, now won't use it, having declared it totally unsafe since the old furnace was removed and the new one installed through that door. He's been putting its replacement together and will be ready to bring segments over for installation as weather permits. The house door was dead-bolted so nobody can use the entrance, and with the old framework now gone there is no temptation to injury in that spot.

There was, however, a huge mess. First, an unexpected pile of last year's dead leaves had managed to find the right winds to slide them through between gaps in the wood and pile up unmolested. Not our leaves, of course, but maple and oak leaves, none of which come from our lot. I had also inspected the area covered by the concrete slab which supported the former porch, visible once the large crap was gone. It was additionally loaded with piles of collected dust and dirt, decorated with abundant, somewhat painted chips and chunks from the former wood so badly maintained by former residents. My son kept mentioning their lack of using proper screws for the construction. Good thing he's a perfectionist! I know we can trust the safety of its replacement. And yes, it will get repainted regularly.

My original plan was to be out bright and early in cool morning air to clean it up. The amended weather forecast pushed that plan forward to after dark but before bed. That turns out to be local mosquito time. I'd turned on the outside light so I could see to clean up properly. They noticed. I'm tasty. Amazingly they were my first mosquito bites of this year, as the steady lake breezes keep them at bay, but my back is busy reacting with a heavy dose of itch. SOMEBODY forgot to buy OFF! this year.

Oops. I'm making a shopping list for later today.

Meanwhile with a broom and dustpan I managed to tightly pack a wastebasket to the brim three times, each load dumped into the garbage bin which goes curbside tonight. No, mea culpa, I didn't take the extra time to treat the mosquitoes to a feast by stopping to bag the stuff. I just hurried to get rid of it all before the rain showed up, though mostly to remove myself from the evening menu. 

Yep, selfish me! Hey, you feed them all you want!

The can goes curbside tonight. With the next round of storms expected later today/tonight, maybe or maybe not here again, there's enough ballast in it to withstand normal storm wind gusts. There was a lot of detritus on that concrete pad which had chipped off over the years. I still think "wood hamburger" is an appropriate reference. It might be heavy enough that I'll ask Paul to wheel it out for me, since I still shouldn't be handling heavy stuff, and my limitations are pretty wimpy with titanium screws holding my shoulders and arms together. I'm officially approved for PT now, and I'm counting last night as part of it!

The storm rolled in on schedule, most of its power spent by then. I'd been watching, both through slightly opened blinds and TV/laptop reports, and clearly clocked one lightning strike one second away. But I'd taken the time to air gap certain electronics, and delayed what would have been a much welcomed shower for my salty/itchy back. I'd always been warned not to be in water, indoors or out, during interesting weather. It didn't pass until 2AM, and my late activity kept me awake through it, coupled with mosquito bites. 

There was one incidental benefit. Since my back stopped me from relaxing enough to sleep in my recliner, and my shoulders won't let me sleep on my bed (I swear that mattress is harder than the one I selected in the store!) I decided to stack pillows on the couch and give that a try. Almost instant zonk!

At least I slept till 7:30. After morning duties, I opened the front door to see what might have been left on the concrete pad. No wood chips or chinks, no hardware. Whatever the dust had been composed of, the storm arranged it into piles of small black pebbles. Weird! After breakfast I'll head out and clear it off, checking what it might be and hoping it isn't cemented together. But maybe a nap first, eh? Or at least, coffee for sure.

Fifth Of July

The little fireworks as always started days ahead of the official celebration on the 4th. As somebody with a series of small dogs over the years who reacted badly to the loud noises,  it never was the most pleasant of times. Now with no pets other than a "few well-behaved houseplants" I'd hoped for something more peaceful, the way last year was.

Fine, call me a fool!

Mother Nature started it off with a thunderstorm, which defied the reputation of storms in this area  for going around in every other direction by hitting us directly this time in mid-late afternoon, bringing both noise and lots of rain with it. Luckily we didn't lose power, though lots of places in the state did, per this morning's news. I'd had warning of possible weather, and headed out to relocate a couple plants which needed a deeper location before it all arrived so they'd get well settled without my needing to drag out the hose, but just emptying a rain bucket instead over their new location. It had the added benefit of not giving mosquitoes a chance to hatch out in its wet bottom. I'll dump it again this afternoon.

I'll also head out to check our rain gauge. I wasn't in the mood at the time, since once the storm stopped making booms the neighbors began. It had been happening in small bits for days, as it does every year in the general area. It's a great time to stay indoors even without disturbed pets. Too many stupid, careless people setting them off. While our state has fairly strict laws on personal fireworks, it's a very short hop across the border into Wisconsin which has much more liberal laws and doesn't bother to check which side of the border they'd be lit in. Apparently inflation and gas prices didn't make an impact this summer for the personal budgets set aside for noise and light shows.

In the decades I've lived  - or at least summered - in the general area I've seldom noticed parents supervising kids in setting them off, nor policing their trash afterwards. (Your fireworks from the middle of the street or your backyard bonfire land in the neighbors yard? Not your problem!) I'd hoped that being in a seniors area, we could escape all that. (When living in Sun City, the sheer size of that senior community meant we escaped local fireworks and kid events like trick-or-treating. Oh horrors, the penalty of eating your own bowl of candy!)  Normally we could, but too many people acquired the big boomers this year. From where the sounds originated, every person living on any of the lakes in the area had their own hour's worth of illegal ones to set off out over their own piece of lakeshore. If I had drones and energy I'd be curious how many fish are floating on the lakes' surfaces as a result. I had visions of Crocodile Dundee fishing with dynamite sticks in one of his movies.

Am I overreacting? This cluster of communities doesn't normally set off their own shows. One has to drive  a dozen miles to large central displays, find parking, bring your own blanket or folding chairs, bug spray, and beverages , settle in on the beach and watch the show, stick around afterwards to let the drunks have a chance to get off the roads before you go on them. It loses its charm. Our town has its own fireworks at a different annual celebration a week or two later, and one can look down our street and see the high ones over the tops of the trees. Just sit or stand on the front porch for a few minutes or as long as you want. You can still get all the noise you want - and then some - over about 20 minutes. No long drives, all the amenities of home without the lines and inconvenience.

Last night the noise started early. Typical formal displays start at ten, when it's dark enough to see them all clearly. For neighborhood displays though,  many people not only neglect safety, they don't care what you wanted to listen to or when, or how terrified your pets are. Last night once the rain stopped, the man-made booms began, everything from little pops to industrial-level BOOMS! I could have sworn I was living in the middle of 18 different towns, not 500 scattered pyrotechnic neighbors. Not only did it start days ahead on the small home scale, once it started last night it simply didn't stop. 

I told myself things would simmer down around eleven, the way it does every other year. There were times it was so loud and incessant I stuck my head out to see if despite lack of announcements our town was in fact setting them off nearby, or the next one over in any direction. Nope, dark. So local yokels with big pocketbooks and a need to out-compete the world. Got it.

I tried to sleep after that, already past my usual time. I figured it had to stop soon, right? An hour's worth is good enough for everybody, right? Two hours later it hadn't slowed. And yes, the huge boomers were still going off. Would anybody have noticed if somebody shot their domestic partner? Or had a drive-by shooting? Ignore it folks, just another firecracker, enjoy! 

But did they all have to keep going until 2AM on the 5th?  Seriously?

It's such an "interesting" combination of being wired and sleep deprived. I'm having my morning mug of coffee. At this point it ought to relax me enough to get some decent sleep. OK, maybe an hour nap. Perhaps by midnight.

Third Life... And Counting

Another problem fixed!

I was sorting laundry, checking pockets and so forth, in the front area of our home this morning. Suddenly I heard the giggles, the kind only happy children under a certain age can produce. A quick peek out the window showed their source, a neighbor diagonally across the street. Or more accurately, a couple of their granddaughters. I presumed a holiday weekend visit, enjoying early morning mild weather on their large covered porch without threat of imminent rain for a change.

Laundry could wait! I headed out for a chat with the family, describing the box, its former uses for furnace and kids' playground/tunnel, its designation for recycling eventually, and my hopes for more children to have some fun without any financing needed on the part of their families, my lack of a car large enough to relocate it in its current state. The children turned out to be granddaughters, the littlest one walking well and giggling better, the older one either about to enter or just leaving kindergarten.

Perfect!

Grandpa was volunteered by the family to head over and take the box back to their home to get acquainted with its second wannabe demolition squad. All adults agreed its ultimate home would be recycling, in much smaller pieces. I did point out an overlooked sticky tag still attached, much as I'd tried to remove all of them, visible once the box was angled for heading out our door, over the porch railing, out over the grass between gardens, across the street, and... gone to another happy home.

Wow! The living room is really that big again? How did I forget... Oh wait. 

Now I have no excuse to put off getting my printer up and running again, now that I can actually see it and reach it. I have the replacement toner cartridge, but sadly am down to two pieces of suitable paper. I see a stop on my way home from my shoulder surgeon later today. Then a bit of an assist with the cartridge swap from my son on his next visit, and another thing fixed.

Fair Swap

I'm doing a fairly good of of shoulder #2  healing, despite  certain uses still making it ache. I'm way down on tylenol most days, or even off if it's been an easy day. Of course with ferrying things for Steve back and forth it has become a useful part of my pill regimen again. Tomorrow is supposed to be my final appointment with my surgeon, where he puts in orders for my PT to start. But well as it's doing, there are still things I can't/won't accomplish.

I realized with the driving all around I've been doing lately that I likely needed oil in the car, or at least to get it checked. I keep one spare bottle in the back just for top-ups. The problem is that these days I can't  open the hood. Besides, somehow every time I buy another vice grip needed to open the cap after the mechanics have finished with the oil, the next time I go to find one, it's managed to "walk away".  

Mind you, I'm not pointing any fingers. I don't have any suspects like we did in Arizona when beads I know I dropped got lost forever, I could blame the cockroaches there for coming out to play soccer with them while we were sleeping. Not only do we never see cockroaches here the way we did there, but I simply cannot imagine them even as a troupe towing away a vice grip. Not claiming here I know everything about them, but just saying they're unlikely to be responsible.

The point is I still can no longer do some things I'd do regularly a couple years back.

It occurred to me this morning, in the middle of errands with several more coming up in the next few days  before the holiday that I likely needed to top up the oil before putting a bunch of miles on the car. With no time for an oil change and no likely openings for what requires an appointment these days to even get one in the shortened week, I'd better go for plan B,

I drove the few miles to my son's house after supper, asked him to please open the hood, check the levels, and put the last full can in before letting me know how low I might still be. I still needed a bit more, so there was a drive to pick up more than I needed just then to top it, in order to have some for next time. 

In exchange, I did one of the things I still can do with a single shoulder in good shape, pull weeds out of his garden. It's a job he'd prefer to ignore, but he happens to have a large section of already tall ones which I know from years of experience are easily persuaded to release their grip on the soil... most of the time. Parts of his garden are now emerging into view.  I left him a couple nice piles of them before I drove off the final time for both of us to do whatever for ourselves in what remained of the evening in our own homes. 

Steve as expected is still in the rehab facility, recovering from the day's strenuous PT and OT, perhaps with energy left to read a few pages in one of the several books he asked me to bring, or possibly to look for any watchable TV leading up to a holiday weekend. He was really tired and in pain as I'd left earlier, working as hard as he is to get himself out of there and home again. Yesterday was easier on him, leaving him time to join the blackjack table, where all play for fun, not money. I don't think he's played more than a couple times since he retired as a dealer. 

At least today when he wasn't up for much of anything, one of the staff handed him an alternate menu where he can order ala carte foods instead of the same three meals every day. He was saying something about a BLT when I left after dropping off his laptop earlier. He was happy for the change, but we both knew he'd really have preferred BATs, where instead of lettuce there is fresh mashed avocado, not just tastier but providing the occasional shocked reaction to the uninitiated along with a chance to let them know what they've been missing in their sandwiches all their lives. Hey, some days fun is where you can make it.

Quiet House

Steve went from hospital to a rehab facility. We're hopeful that he will improve as quickly as possible so he can return home and function here. It was no kindness in sending him home where within just hours he was a prisoner to wherever he happened to be. I tried to do what I could, but with a healing shoulder I still carry the reminders that it was a bad idea for both of us. I'm thinking it's a good thing that I only needed to go back on Tylenol, but damn! I'd been totally off all painkillers for a few entire days!

I'm here and he's almost 5 miles away. I'm used to him calling out, once I start moving in the morning, asking if I'm up. It's not a redundant question, in case you think hearing something means I'm awake for the day. It really means am I planning to be awake for a while? Or was this just one of those wee hours pit stops with a return to bed planned? It doesn't always mean he wishes to come join me if I plan to be up for a while. He might be busy with his laptop in his room, or reading a really good book. It's a reminder that he cares. I miss hearing it.

There's the sound of his walker as he emerges from his room. It has four wheels, not two wheels plus two legs with tennis balls. It makes its own special noise as he uses it, which changes as he goes from carpet to hard kitchen flooring and back to carpet, so I can always tell his progress. I miss hearing that too.

There's the noise of his favorite TV shows, mostly a wide variety of cooking contests, but it includes every Jeopardy episode, and  when he's in the mood, bass fishing tournaments. It will include certain Olympic events when it's the season, with a special fondness for figure skating any time and anywhere those are held including the four years  leading up to the big event. There is always a pause button one of us uses so we can read the name of the music the skaters will be using, and often is the only classical music we hear for long periods. I can hear that alone in the car too, with a good MPR station, but we enjoy doing it together while watching skaters. The car is more a time for talking and observing.  I miss those times as well.

There's the reminder as I leave the house to drive anywhere to drive safe, watch out for all the idiots and the Minnesota attack deer. He could shorten it to "I love you" but that says it perfectly well.

He listens to my telling him how the garden is doing, sharing family news either of us has to share, even rehashing old memories together. Shortly I'll get dressed to be out in public, drive over to the facility he's in, share progress reports. His will be about the food, the PT, perhaps a particularly helpful staff member, or  just how bad the pain is -  at the moment or for the last hours. I'll probably stay an hour because I'm also busy planning the details of the birthday party that's being moved to where he is instead of here in the house. There's still cleaning and shopping to be done, from ordinary messes to checking to be sure medications are up out of the reach of the great-grands who will come early to the house to play in the monster box before we head to the party. One already is telling his mom about his plans to demolish the box, which is fine, though I hope to persuade him that his siblings should get a chance to play in it for a while with him first. The house won't be quiet for an hour or two then, and it will be wonderful, even if they are squabbling. Their parents can deal with that quite well. I have already remembered to tape a certain display cabinet door shut, since the youngest is fascinated by its contents and will open it any chance he gets, in the firm belief that whatever he can see is his to touch. If he's still fascinated in a few years, we can have a supervised "explore" of things like southwest pottery storytellers. I can certainly understand the appeal, especially when so many of the artists were so creative, using animals, or even corn people.

Until then there will be the sounds of dishes getting washed - by hand since Steve is the one who loves the dishwasher - and likely occasional vocalizations over the amount of food grease and "stickeys" on the stove and counters because the person who loves to cook in this house doesn't get a dishpan of soapy water in the sink with a dishrag to wipe the counters clean. It won't be a quiet house then. It just won't be his noises filling empty spaces, not for a while. It will be me grumping, but at least knowing those spaces will stay clean because for at least a short time nobody will be frying bacon in a pan without a lid at high temperatures. OK, sometimes a lid, lately, but baby steps.

I'm not altogether sure I miss that particular sound. But his happy noises while he cooks and eats the cause of those messes....

You guessed it. I love and miss those too. It's so quiet here I might have to start singing again. I haven't done that for years, so I'm sure he wouldn't miss hearing any of the warm-up attempts Yikes!

Stressed!

You should know that I have healed both shoulders to the point now where I can put most shirts on myself by myself, even if a few things still need an assist. I needed a clean one this morning and managed it myself, once I dealt with the sling by myself, both times. Why both? The first time after I tucked all the bits into their locations and got them smoothed around the lumpy parts of me, finally ready -I thought- to head out in public, I passed my bathroom mirror and happened to notice it was on backwards! There is a pretty printed design on the front, but now it showed on the back.  Hard to miss, you say? Sighhh... OK, off and redo. No further problem, with that at least. Who knows what other overlooked nonsense will pop up?

So why so late to figure out how much stress I was under? I was changing to go drive over to the local hospital, following with some delay the ambulance taking Steve back there. His ability to walk has rapidly been declining, he was feeling literally sick, and finally asked me to put in a 911 call. Not the "I've fallen" call, but "send me an ambulance" call. After much discussion of his circumstances, off they took him. I sorted the house as needed, like checking what food sat out, which clothes of his went in the "dirty" hamper, and returning pill bottles from where the paramedics were examining them to where they sit in a bag until the day-of-the-week holder gets restocked. Then off I went, though I did decide I'd better have something in me besides coffee and morning pills, and grabbed some graham crackers to crumb up the car. OK, in honesty, the front of that shirt too, but I brushed off what I couldn't collect and eat from a clean shirt first.

I sat with him in the ER for several hours, until they formally admitted him. Until then, he had several IVs pumping fluids, pain meds, and antibiotics into him, took a trip to X-ray and back while I hunted down the closest restroom, chatted with staff as they came and went giving my memories of what had been going on with him as opposed to his recollections, and so forth. I suspect it's why wives go to hospitals with their husbands. It's not for entertainment value, despite the need to crack the tension with something silly occasionally. No, I'm not sharing that comment with you though it did change one of the nurses' minds about how far to dim the lights on her way out. 

It didn't help that last night was not one of the nights I remembered to plug in my phone. Luckily I have a car charger for the unused lighter port that works when the car runs. By the time I parked at the hospital it had one full bar of charge. I could turn it on again. Calls were at a premium. We agreed to call Steve's daughter who is great at contacting everybody in the family as to what's going on. Most families I know seem to have one of those. Three short calls at different stages of information and decisions were managed, and I charged the phone again on my drive home mid afternoon. That was after he was admitted, finally promised a sandwich three hours after lunch was skipped, had his surgeon's input and recommendations, lined him up for OT and PT evaluations under his current status which had left him barely able to walk a single step on one leg. Right, so now we hear about how his surgery was extra technically difficult, which means it often leaves the patient much worst the next few days than when they were discharged. Somebody gave us the wrong bingo cards that didn't have that row of options on it! We are both used to at least slow improvements as days go by from healing. 

Oh well, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition either! What are we complaining about? He came home to walking with minimal assist from his walker, a good way to get up the stairs to the front door, and expectations of a more normal life than he'd just been having with that bad hip. Maybe next time he comes home? Will that be from the hospital again or from a few days in some care center? (Does Medicare still require three CONSECUTIVE days in the hospital before they start to pay for that? Daddy went through those hoops a few times in his last years.)

Tonight I'll be doing some cleaning, some laundry (his), a bit of TV watching, and hoping shoulder #2 which had been doing extra duty these last few days will settle down and quit griping without my needing to reach for my own unused Oxy. I'd recently found that wearing the soft sling to bed at night helped me sleep by minimizing pain to the point of no pills for it. I'd even quit Tylenol... till today. No choice. We had unreal expectations. 

Among those are a planned family party here for the weekend. We're telling people to stand by, don't cancel yet, we might have changes but cancelling is a last resort. We've got two phone trees going now. At least mine is the short one.

Oops, the washer is done with the first load. Hey, did I remember to check his pockets?????

Why You Lost Your Tip

We have no idea who you were. But you had reason to know some things about us.  We frequently order groceries and sundries from Walmart. That should at least hint that the long hikes through the store are to be avoided, not a fitness routine. Our delivery address is a senior community. By your second delivery here that should be apparent because 99% of the faces you'll see have the requisite amount of wrinkles, many entrances have ramps, and frankly, we're actually asking and paying you to deliver our orders here when we could just as easily drive to you, wait in our car, drive our stuff home and walk it inside ourselves... but we don't, at least recently. I suspect the store knows everything about us and you could easily find out there's a reason we're paying for the extra help. It's not because we just won the lottery! Trust me on that one! If we had, you'd likely be delivering to a McMansion somewhere, complete with a mountain view if Steve had his way, plus a lake or river if I did. The tip would be HUGE then as well!

It's because we need the extra assist. Sure, it could be done... over a long time, a small few items at a time, with rests between going up and down the stairs, hauling in to the kitchen or pantry to put them away, and perhaps still have energy and even the desire to fix and eat some of what we just ordered. 

Or perhaps you were just in a hurry to finish a couple of last deliveries so you could go home or on that date or whatever your end-of-day me-first goal was. You didn't stop to read our standing orders for all deliveries, the covered porch and on which side, significantly larger than a second set of stairs under repair at the moment, with a smooth paved path from the parking spot, and as you would find, a very well reinforced railing along the stairs.  That information is all written down in our delivery information, just like somebody else would warn of a dog, or request a basement or garage entry. It also tells you we need you to ring our doorbell when you arrive. Once you are on the porch there's even a sign"BELL" with an arrow to the button in case a black button in a sea of white is too subtle. (We're helpers!)

Other delivery drivers, whether Fed Ex or whoever while we were still furnishing the new abode,  though mostly from this Walmart store manage to get it right. The occasional one, upon seeing us face-to-face and noticing various mobility aids or impediments, even offer to bring the food inside, even though we are happy enough even on our worst days to bring it in from the correct porch. Some get extra tips for the extra "mile".

What you didn't know, nor should you have needed to know had you bothered to read the instructions, is that currently we are both recovering from hospitalizations which have great promise but need recovery time to regain the hoped-for mobility. For various reasons including medications, we both had dozed off for a bit through the very start of our delivery window. Once awake and noting the time, the app was checked and we found the delivery supposedly had been made. NO doorbell courtesy as requested, which gives a loud version of Big Ben which nobody can ignore.  Soon as we got the information, I went straight to the requested porch and looked for the usual collection of bags and boxes. It was so empty it was pristine from a recent rain.

OK, locate shoes, head out  and around to the rickety porch, and yep, there they sat, mostly frozen boxes or bags... sitting in the hot sun! My first order of business was to try to figure out their temperature to decide if we had issues with food safety. Lucky for us, we woke up in time. Everything was at least refrigerator cool, if thawing around the edges. Knowing the contents, safe enough! (We'd made a note not to order ice cream delivered except in winter long ago.)

Next issue was going up those stairs where they sat. Winter wasn't kind, wood was splitting and crumbling, railings wobbling. Just what I needed! There's a reason the replacement is under construction, just in a different location, partly for weather protection since it's been rainy, not good for unpainted wood, and partly to eliminate the temptation for parts and tools to "walk away" since that is right next to the road with no obvious observation point from indoors. We warn repair men who've been doing internal work on HVAC to be careful, but that's by far the logical access point for those systems. Otherwise we'd have a sign there, but just last week the AC needed a part on the first hot day of the year, of course. It's been busy since with other needed work.

Right now Steve is not walking, to the point we had to call a couple of helpful local cops to assist him move from bed to chair the previous night just out of the hospital, a distance of about 30 feet. He walked fine in the hospital and even from the car to inside via the stairs, but they don't send those meds home with anybody, apparently.  Their meds had just worn off and he hadn't thought to start on his home supply yet, which will never be as good as what they administered.  The next day three steps was his limit. Today it's a bit more but with stops. So it's all me right now for work around the place. A quick look showed the driver left us over a dozen bags and three boxes to be relocated. Multiple trips, in other words, since that's how I move these days. First priority was a quick sort to get the most heat vulnerable foods out of the sun. I can manage one handful of bag handles at a time, leaving the other for the stair railing for safety. I can't do a heavy armful of bags, though the hand strength is just fine. The relevant shoulder is still in its sling with load restrictions, and I'm trying to work myself off even Tylenol these days. I'll never be up to lifting another human again past the age of a couple weeks, per my surgeon. In addition I'm not used to the muggy heat yet this season, so I was taking short breaks as I sorted the loads.

The last bit was the boxes. The railing system on that tiny porch leaves a space between porch floor and bottom support for vertical rails, one I can fit my hand under. The boxes were snug up to the horizontal rail, an actual benefit to getting the job done. I can stand on the grass, slip my hand in the gap, and using a series of small pushes scoot the two heaviest boxes across the porch floor to the stairs. Then I can tilt the end of each box slowly up until it slides down a step  and settles there.  That's how I met Dennis. He offered help.

He doesn't actually live here, but in the town homes across the county road. Our area is much safer, once one can cross the busy road, for a person to walk for some leisurely exercise, notice how each resident is decorating their yard with plants or ornaments, hail folks out on their porches, and on the downhill end pause to see what's happening on the lake, from boats to ice houses to critters to weather to sky, depending on season and time. Dennis introduced himself and offered to assist me getting the boxes to the other porch or even into the house if I preferred.  I gratefully accepted and we started chatting. His first hike in the area brought out a cranky neighbor who referred to him with a nasty name and tried to claim he had no right to walk our streets. At that point Dennis introduced himself to our manager for clarification, and was informed he was very welcome to walk on our streets. In the ensuing years the two have become friends. In the course of our discussion I pointed out the paved path between our street and the next between the homes, clarifying for him it was a public path for anybody, and welcomed him to use it any time without fear of somebody thinking he was trespassing. Being me, of course I also pointed out the flowers he might enjoy along the way, and extended his absolute welcome to step off the path for a closer look if he wished. It wouldn't be an intrusion - no windows to snoop through between height and privacy coverings - and if he enjoyed the flowers I'd consider it a compliment. (The Asiatic lilies in their 28 foot row are starting to open, and the daylily buds are beginning to pop up above their leaves.) I also invite neighbors to pick rhubarb if they want - but pull, don't cut - as long as the plants are still there. Come this fall the last of those plants will be finding new homes to make room to separate all the iris from daylilies, room both need. Somebody (ahem) got carried away with an abundance of varieties and enriched dirt! The iris are getting too shaded to bloom properly. )

When all the groceries were put where they needed to go. Steve informed me he took back the tip on the order form Walmart has, which strongly suggests a certain amount tip for the delivery. On occasion he has added to it after a driver has been extra helpful. Just in case you wonder why you lost your tip, the above should explain it ... assuming you are capable of learning what your fellow drivers know, the basic way to do your job. A dozen local deliveries a day plus wages should put a nice bulge in your pockets.  If you follow simple instructions, plainly written with the order, you'll get your tip next time. We have no clue who you were, and can't hold a grudge even if we felt like being mean. Eventually we'll be driving again to the store pick-up area and doing that work ourselves, so your window for learning, so far as we are concerned, is narrowing.  I would hope before that happens that your boss notices why your tip was pulled back and has a chat with you so you can do better- for the store, for us, for yourself - because when customers do that they give explanations of what went wrong.

Homecoming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oddball (?) Breakfast

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scammed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last American Survivor of Iwo Jima Is Gone

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid Question Du Jour

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

Piqued your curiosity yet?

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

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

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

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

And you're still reading this?