One advantage of having a DVR with your TV satellite system is the ability to pause. Wherever, whenever, for however long. It's starting to get abused.
Our satellite company is Direct TV. It's now owned by A T & T. Somebody there decided we needed an "entertaining" screen saver. At first it was delightful scenic shots, the kind that should earn the photographers some hefty change. Later, they changed into promos for movies they wanted to entice us to pay for. Then they went back to a combination of scenics and ads for movies. Their next step - always improving, those folks, eh? - was to throw in ads for A T & T themselves. Apparently even that didn't pay well enough. Now the go-to ad when the pause button is hit, is an endless loop for Charmin.
Now that, in itself, isn't all that objectionable. Nevermind that there is none available on the shelves even if we decided to head out and buy their product. True, it is a level of frustration to have somebody whet your appetite for the unavailable. But we can deal with that, possibly even managing to be out of the room to a location where their product might actually be of use. Irony, huh.
It's the ad itself that pushes itself into the boundaries of porn. T. P. porn. It's Daddy Bear again, the same character who showed Baby Bear that she doesn't need half a roll to meet her needs. Cute, at least the first 350 times. OK, maybe 3 times.
In this ad, however, Daddy is squeezing, fondling, and loving up two big packages of T. P., with what I could rudely call a shit-eating grin on his face, were I not too polite to do so. Consider it not having been done. Just in case you didn't quite get the way this one leans, the tag line seals it: "Enjoy the go."
Oh, if only we could!
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Monday, April 13, 2020
Latest - As If It Mattered
The days, weeks, and months are all blending in to each other. Time has either stopped or is going too... what? Slow? Fast? Have we been fighting this forever or just since last week? Or is the answer to that just a geographical one? If it is, do we count by state? country? household?
They - whoever they are - have come out with maps showing where the cases are by zip code. AZ has published it online, on the local CBS station's Arizona Family website. Curious, I checked out two: Sun City, and Sun City West. If you don't know, that's 85351 and 85375, respectively. You might have thought they were quite similar, as both are retirement communities, nearly adjacent. That is, unless you remember that Sun City West shut down its rec centers a couple weeks or so before we did. Our rate is about 3 times theirs. It's hard to tell, though, because they count theirs by "between 6 and 10." Our count is 23. And people like Steve and I started shutting out the world - as much as possible - as soon as we heard what Sun City West had done.
But how are they counting, anyway? Without proper testing, it's impossible to trust the figures, other than being sure they are higher than reported. Perhaps it's per hospital? Per patient? What about those places which refuse to accurately either count or release their information?
But hey, at least there's still the full DVD set of "West Wing" !!! You know, with the president we all wished we had right now. I also hear jigsaw puzzles are in high demand. I wonder if somebody would swap ours for a pack of TP?
I made a discovery this morning: the origin of the duck tail hairstyle. It was obviously made by somebody cutting their own hair, plagued by rotator cuff injuries, and completely unable to reach the center back of their neck to finish the job. (Ask me how I know!)
I now have a sort-of face mask. It's in the laundry as I type this, because it's a hand-me-down from Steve. It turns out his men's hankies are enough bigger than my men's hankies that they actually will tie in back of my head rather than not quite meeting. Even so, it's only mine now because when Steve was in for his morning KUB x-ray, somebody offered him one of their spares. (He claims is was the old Steve charm. I don't doubt it.) So his has ear elastic and is shaped to fit a face, and mine looks like a semi-clean bank albino robber. Perhaps once it's out of the dryer, it'll look more than semi-clean.
Uh huh.
By the way, it's just not fair about that size thing. I'm used to items made for women being both more expensive and cheaper quality. We both buy our hankies in the men's department in the same store. His are for his nose, mine clean my glasses. Wouldn't you think they'd be equal?
(Brief pause here.)
My kitchen floor is clean again. I find there are at least two levels of clean. There's guy-clean. And there's my-mother's-clean. OK, three levels, since I'll never achieve Mom's standards. It's been swept, but not mopped. And the reason it's been swept, as well as the reason for the pause, can be blamed on the morning news. (Now you're curious, aren't you?) It seems there has been a national run on hair dye and clippers. Yep, now that we're all home and have nobody to impress, we're all frantic to look our very best. Or at least as well as we can do it ourselves.
We didn't need to go out for either item. We've proudly flash-blinded the rest of the world with our bright white locks for forty-some years, so no hair dye needed. I've owned and used hair scissors since my own kids were babies and too young to complain while I was learning. It didn't work that way with my own hair, but I had nobody willing to listen to me complain about how I turned out. It has only been for the last decade or so that I've been trusting (blindly!) my haircuts to the "professionals", since my shoulders rebel loudly at the positions forced into them while cutting. Plus Steve has a clippers for those delicate touch-ups on his head. He didn't even jump across the room when I announced I was going to learn today how to do that clipper-comb thing I've seen while waiting for my haircuts. And by George - whoever he was - I think I've got it! No baindaids needed. Honest!
Truth be told, there are a couple extra pairs of clippers in the house. They worked perfectly well on the dogs, so I have no reason to believe they wouldn't on Steve's head as well. I mean, after cleaning, of course. But he says "No."
How does this relate to the kitchen? I cut his hair this morning. About three inches off, all around. Perhaps a whole 1/8 cup in volume, it's so silky. (I would have said thin, but he does read this, you know.) He'd been letting it grow out, but finally decided enough was enough. Not sure what changed his mind. It's not like grandkids came down 1800 miles to rub bubblegum in it or anything. And he usually wears a cap whenever he leaves the house, so often it doesn't even get combed first.
But cut it I did. Of course, that was after I cleaned both of his combs. They not only violated Mom's standards, they violated mine! Fortunately, we have (had?) a good veggie scrubbing brush at the sink and lots of soft-soap to pour over them.
I have to think about whether that brush gets used for food again. I mean, soap is soap, right?
And, coming back to the original point for this tale, the kitchen floor got all the dropped hair swept up off it. Most of it was caught or wiped off my fingers onto the towel around his neck, but some always drops. Even trying to clean the hair off the towel by hand only got off the major clumps, so it had to be taken out the back door and shaken out. Lucky me, I planned ahead and planted enough shrubbery around the sides of the yard where houses are still occupied that I could step out in just my bra and slacks without scandalizing the neighborhood. No need to peel off too many layers to get rid of all those little prickly hairs and make more dirty laundry, eh? And the house is warm enough....
(Not-so-brief pause here.)
Back from the urologist. Steve assures me he survived, and in a few days he'll actually feel like he survived. He's glad I talked him into taking ibuprofin ahead of the visit. He compared the stent removal to them taking a piece of barbed wire, and ... OK, guys, calm down. I'm not going to describe it further. Just like Steve couldn't explain how he knew what it felt like to take a piece of barbed wire and .... OK, OK, nevermind. But he insisted it never actually happened to him.
While he was being thus entertained, I popped out for a quick trip to WalMart. The hankie was big enough that I had to retie it 3 times to get it close to staying up on my face. Never entertained the thought before that I might benefit from a larger nose. While I was there, miracle of miracles, they still had TP in stock. There were about a dozen four-packs left, and I very courteously took only one. Of course, it was small enough that they are the equivalent to 2 ordinary rolls. Still, something.
After retrieving Steve, we hit his favorite grocery store. I got gas while he shopped, and eventually noticed an open handicapped parking space while he was still inside. We should be good for another couple weeks or so. Until we decide we aren't.
Of course. Maybe 5 days? Anybody wanna lay bets?
They - whoever they are - have come out with maps showing where the cases are by zip code. AZ has published it online, on the local CBS station's Arizona Family website. Curious, I checked out two: Sun City, and Sun City West. If you don't know, that's 85351 and 85375, respectively. You might have thought they were quite similar, as both are retirement communities, nearly adjacent. That is, unless you remember that Sun City West shut down its rec centers a couple weeks or so before we did. Our rate is about 3 times theirs. It's hard to tell, though, because they count theirs by "between 6 and 10." Our count is 23. And people like Steve and I started shutting out the world - as much as possible - as soon as we heard what Sun City West had done.
But how are they counting, anyway? Without proper testing, it's impossible to trust the figures, other than being sure they are higher than reported. Perhaps it's per hospital? Per patient? What about those places which refuse to accurately either count or release their information?
But hey, at least there's still the full DVD set of "West Wing" !!! You know, with the president we all wished we had right now. I also hear jigsaw puzzles are in high demand. I wonder if somebody would swap ours for a pack of TP?
I made a discovery this morning: the origin of the duck tail hairstyle. It was obviously made by somebody cutting their own hair, plagued by rotator cuff injuries, and completely unable to reach the center back of their neck to finish the job. (Ask me how I know!)
I now have a sort-of face mask. It's in the laundry as I type this, because it's a hand-me-down from Steve. It turns out his men's hankies are enough bigger than my men's hankies that they actually will tie in back of my head rather than not quite meeting. Even so, it's only mine now because when Steve was in for his morning KUB x-ray, somebody offered him one of their spares. (He claims is was the old Steve charm. I don't doubt it.) So his has ear elastic and is shaped to fit a face, and mine looks like a semi-clean bank albino robber. Perhaps once it's out of the dryer, it'll look more than semi-clean.
Uh huh.
By the way, it's just not fair about that size thing. I'm used to items made for women being both more expensive and cheaper quality. We both buy our hankies in the men's department in the same store. His are for his nose, mine clean my glasses. Wouldn't you think they'd be equal?
(Brief pause here.)
My kitchen floor is clean again. I find there are at least two levels of clean. There's guy-clean. And there's my-mother's-clean. OK, three levels, since I'll never achieve Mom's standards. It's been swept, but not mopped. And the reason it's been swept, as well as the reason for the pause, can be blamed on the morning news. (Now you're curious, aren't you?) It seems there has been a national run on hair dye and clippers. Yep, now that we're all home and have nobody to impress, we're all frantic to look our very best. Or at least as well as we can do it ourselves.
We didn't need to go out for either item. We've proudly flash-blinded the rest of the world with our bright white locks for forty-some years, so no hair dye needed. I've owned and used hair scissors since my own kids were babies and too young to complain while I was learning. It didn't work that way with my own hair, but I had nobody willing to listen to me complain about how I turned out. It has only been for the last decade or so that I've been trusting (blindly!) my haircuts to the "professionals", since my shoulders rebel loudly at the positions forced into them while cutting. Plus Steve has a clippers for those delicate touch-ups on his head. He didn't even jump across the room when I announced I was going to learn today how to do that clipper-comb thing I've seen while waiting for my haircuts. And by George - whoever he was - I think I've got it! No baindaids needed. Honest!
Truth be told, there are a couple extra pairs of clippers in the house. They worked perfectly well on the dogs, so I have no reason to believe they wouldn't on Steve's head as well. I mean, after cleaning, of course. But he says "No."
How does this relate to the kitchen? I cut his hair this morning. About three inches off, all around. Perhaps a whole 1/8 cup in volume, it's so silky. (I would have said thin, but he does read this, you know.) He'd been letting it grow out, but finally decided enough was enough. Not sure what changed his mind. It's not like grandkids came down 1800 miles to rub bubblegum in it or anything. And he usually wears a cap whenever he leaves the house, so often it doesn't even get combed first.
But cut it I did. Of course, that was after I cleaned both of his combs. They not only violated Mom's standards, they violated mine! Fortunately, we have (had?) a good veggie scrubbing brush at the sink and lots of soft-soap to pour over them.
I have to think about whether that brush gets used for food again. I mean, soap is soap, right?
And, coming back to the original point for this tale, the kitchen floor got all the dropped hair swept up off it. Most of it was caught or wiped off my fingers onto the towel around his neck, but some always drops. Even trying to clean the hair off the towel by hand only got off the major clumps, so it had to be taken out the back door and shaken out. Lucky me, I planned ahead and planted enough shrubbery around the sides of the yard where houses are still occupied that I could step out in just my bra and slacks without scandalizing the neighborhood. No need to peel off too many layers to get rid of all those little prickly hairs and make more dirty laundry, eh? And the house is warm enough....
(Not-so-brief pause here.)
Back from the urologist. Steve assures me he survived, and in a few days he'll actually feel like he survived. He's glad I talked him into taking ibuprofin ahead of the visit. He compared the stent removal to them taking a piece of barbed wire, and ... OK, guys, calm down. I'm not going to describe it further. Just like Steve couldn't explain how he knew what it felt like to take a piece of barbed wire and .... OK, OK, nevermind. But he insisted it never actually happened to him.
While he was being thus entertained, I popped out for a quick trip to WalMart. The hankie was big enough that I had to retie it 3 times to get it close to staying up on my face. Never entertained the thought before that I might benefit from a larger nose. While I was there, miracle of miracles, they still had TP in stock. There were about a dozen four-packs left, and I very courteously took only one. Of course, it was small enough that they are the equivalent to 2 ordinary rolls. Still, something.
After retrieving Steve, we hit his favorite grocery store. I got gas while he shopped, and eventually noticed an open handicapped parking space while he was still inside. We should be good for another couple weeks or so. Until we decide we aren't.
Of course. Maybe 5 days? Anybody wanna lay bets?
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Another Saturday - I Think?
Hard to tell, except for the TV. Even that, with so many things recorded on the DVR in hopes they will sometime in the future become interesting, can leave you guessing. There's almost nothing on the calendar requiring attention, other than which twice-a-month day we put out the recycling, that we have to actually find a reason to ask which day it is. No protests, no club responsibilities, nearly no doctor visits. All those regular type checkups, and follow-ups where you know all is well because whatever the cure was, it worked, are cancelled. The exception is the pair of visits Steve needs in order to get his stent removed. Monday. So we'll keep track of that.
It seems the only change is whether it might rain... somewhere else. Even the weeds seem to have caught a dose of ennervation.
The eternal constant is the rise in Covid 19 cases and deaths. We're number one in something, we are. None of those things we wish to be number one in, or get told we are are by those wishing to curry favor (votes), but number one in having the number one worst record in dealing with it.
To those left worrying about my last post, we are both doing well. Steve's shivering finally left him hours after his miniscule temperature did, meaning supper time. Indeed he felt so well that he spent part of his evening doing dishes. We agreed that next time he gets chilled, he should give himself a nice hot shower. Just bundling up doesn't do it for him, and he's not active enough to go out for a nice run or something to kick up the metabolism.
The mail is slow. I sent a check up to Minnesota to my credit union. Normally 3 business days gets it showing up as a deposit. This time, mailed Friday, deposited next Friday. Good thing I could wait it out those extra days. I understand them being both over and under-worked these days. We get fewer shoppers' circulars, but some of the nonsense is still being sent out. Bills arrive. Magazines arrive. Likely there are covid cases among their employees. I've never seen a mask or gloves on any of our "regular" mail carriers, and I put it that way because we haven't had one single regular one for a couple years now, not since the original old guy quit bringing it around 5:00. We figure he retired, because even if the speculations about him having a few favorite hanky-panky stop-offs during his route were accurate, it was going on so long nobody must have cared. Now, though, mail usually arrives 3-4 hours earlier.
Our biggest concern about the post office is whether it'll continue and how long, amid threats of under-financing and speculations about thwarting all plans for mail-in voting during the pandemic. Too many Republicons (sic) have actually said aloud and on camera that only smaller turnouts will allow their party to win in the future. Considering how many of us are actually paying attention these days, they well may be finally telling the truth. But for right now, right here, the post office is one of our lifelines.
And we're waiting for our orders of hand sanitizer and face masks to show up.
One story on last night's news really caught my attention. A farmer - industrial sized, not your old fashioned 160 acres kind - was "having to" mow down his tomatoes. Rows of them stretched out across the screen. They were perfectly healthy, some beautifully ripe, some starting, most green. There was no bug infestation, no tobacco mosaic rust, no drought or hail storm. No, what infested his fields was the lack of orders. He marketed to restaurants, mostly now not operating. And since he wasn't getting any money, his "solution" was to destroy his crop.
But people haven't stopped eating (willingly) just because restaurants are closed. Those who have stopped eating are the ones in the same situation he's in. Their businesses have shut down too. Their appetites haven't. Their need to feed nutritious food to their families hasn't.
Do you note there was no attempt to reach out to food banks? Open his field for just this season to pick-your-own customers who'd likely happily spend what little they had right now in order to feel like they were doing an honest bit of work again to put food directly on their own family tables or those of others, in a field well large enough for everybody to maintain social distance? Is he the kind of person immured in the concept "if I can't get something, nobody can?" Or does he perhaps just need somebody to connect a farmer with a produce overflow with a charity more than happy to find a needed use for it?
And hey, does anybody have the kind of networks to be a middleman for that kind of connection? Anybody? Even on a Saturday?
It seems the only change is whether it might rain... somewhere else. Even the weeds seem to have caught a dose of ennervation.
The eternal constant is the rise in Covid 19 cases and deaths. We're number one in something, we are. None of those things we wish to be number one in, or get told we are are by those wishing to curry favor (votes), but number one in having the number one worst record in dealing with it.
To those left worrying about my last post, we are both doing well. Steve's shivering finally left him hours after his miniscule temperature did, meaning supper time. Indeed he felt so well that he spent part of his evening doing dishes. We agreed that next time he gets chilled, he should give himself a nice hot shower. Just bundling up doesn't do it for him, and he's not active enough to go out for a nice run or something to kick up the metabolism.
The mail is slow. I sent a check up to Minnesota to my credit union. Normally 3 business days gets it showing up as a deposit. This time, mailed Friday, deposited next Friday. Good thing I could wait it out those extra days. I understand them being both over and under-worked these days. We get fewer shoppers' circulars, but some of the nonsense is still being sent out. Bills arrive. Magazines arrive. Likely there are covid cases among their employees. I've never seen a mask or gloves on any of our "regular" mail carriers, and I put it that way because we haven't had one single regular one for a couple years now, not since the original old guy quit bringing it around 5:00. We figure he retired, because even if the speculations about him having a few favorite hanky-panky stop-offs during his route were accurate, it was going on so long nobody must have cared. Now, though, mail usually arrives 3-4 hours earlier.
Our biggest concern about the post office is whether it'll continue and how long, amid threats of under-financing and speculations about thwarting all plans for mail-in voting during the pandemic. Too many Republicons (sic) have actually said aloud and on camera that only smaller turnouts will allow their party to win in the future. Considering how many of us are actually paying attention these days, they well may be finally telling the truth. But for right now, right here, the post office is one of our lifelines.
And we're waiting for our orders of hand sanitizer and face masks to show up.
One story on last night's news really caught my attention. A farmer - industrial sized, not your old fashioned 160 acres kind - was "having to" mow down his tomatoes. Rows of them stretched out across the screen. They were perfectly healthy, some beautifully ripe, some starting, most green. There was no bug infestation, no tobacco mosaic rust, no drought or hail storm. No, what infested his fields was the lack of orders. He marketed to restaurants, mostly now not operating. And since he wasn't getting any money, his "solution" was to destroy his crop.
But people haven't stopped eating (willingly) just because restaurants are closed. Those who have stopped eating are the ones in the same situation he's in. Their businesses have shut down too. Their appetites haven't. Their need to feed nutritious food to their families hasn't.
Do you note there was no attempt to reach out to food banks? Open his field for just this season to pick-your-own customers who'd likely happily spend what little they had right now in order to feel like they were doing an honest bit of work again to put food directly on their own family tables or those of others, in a field well large enough for everybody to maintain social distance? Is he the kind of person immured in the concept "if I can't get something, nobody can?" Or does he perhaps just need somebody to connect a farmer with a produce overflow with a charity more than happy to find a needed use for it?
And hey, does anybody have the kind of networks to be a middleman for that kind of connection? Anybody? Even on a Saturday?
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Worry Time?
It's a pity we can't really stay home. We emerge rarely, taking precaution as possible, primarily for groceries. There was even a plan to go to the local Walgreens for some TP today. Steve went there yesterday to avoid lines and multitudes because he was out of milk, one of his necessities. When asked, they informed him the truck with their TP delivery was due today - no time known - and they would then distribute it to those who asked for it, otherwise leaving their shelves bare.
So there was one plan to go out again.
When I got up this morning he informed me he'd driven up to Fry's, our main grocery store, before 6:00 AM, when they open. He had a small list, not the huge one he'd written out a couple days ago until I reminded him the fridge didn't have room for even half of his list. I'd been telling him that their parking lot was jam packed every morning I'd gone by around 7:00 AM, and had expectations their customers all figured out that the TP and other necessities ran out first thing.
Recall right here that the morning temperature was around 50 degrees, and the car barely warms up by the time he gets there. I'm trying to keep that in mind as I write this.
Seeing the line coming out the front door, down the front of the building, around its corner to the back road where delivery trucks unload, he changed his mind about his early morning run. He sensibly came straight home, no half hour warm-up in the store, no rise in ambient outside temperature, slight heating in the car. When I woke shortly after, he was huddled in his chair, shivering and miserable, asking about turning on the heat.
The thermostat registered one degree below where it's set. I proposed he put his sweatshirt back on, add socks and blanket, and check in an hour or so later on how he was feeling. If he was still chilled, I would turn on the heat. (It's been off for a week, with inside temps ranging from 72 to 78 regardless.) He agreed. And pulled up his blanket. An hour later, he finally got socks, put on his sweatshirt, declared he was still miserable, shivering, and going to bed - just as soon as we finished watching last night's Rachel Maddow Show.
WOW! He's a fan now! No wonder, it's the best news coverage around these days, but he's been avoiding "politics" for a long time. Gets enough rage from Facebook.
Just before he left the room, I laid my wrist across his forehead. It was warm. Not neutral, as usual. Warm. While he was on his way down the hall, I was on the phone cancelling his afternoon doctor's appointment due to possible fever. (I think I detected a pinch of gratitude on their part over the phone.)
While he tries to sleep, or just quit shivering, I'm waiting. Trying to keep in mind this could be a simple reaction to having gotten chilled. Trying to believe all his/our precautions have been foolproof. Knowing we keep no precautions between us, counting on social isolation to do what we don't. And, because it's a particular talent of mine, worrying.
That always goes with planning. What if....? Then....? For myself, I figure my weak spot, virus-wise, is my history of cardiac arrhythmia. The pacemaker takes care of part, and the ablation has done a decent job of the rest, so long as I don't overdo the caffeine. Yesterday, thanks to my Watchman, was even my very last blood thinner pill! But... I don't trust the ablation to "hold" in critical circumstances. So my 1st reaction, if I suspect the virus, will be increasing my vitamin C, the second requesting a short-term refill of amiodarone. It worked perfectly while I was taking it, only quitting due to early indications of toxicity, but I figure short term use won't do much harm, certainly not as much as relapse of arrhythmia.
For Steve, I work on trying to figure out how he can still get his stent removed. It's gotten painful for several days now. Just like mine did back when, it seems to have shifted to find the pokiest spot possible within the bladder. He's supposed to have both the imaging and removal appointments Monday. Today's appointment was for something else, easily rescheduled ... if he's not sick. He also - again if he's not sick - needs to go back to the ENT who fixed his vertigo in five minutes a couple years ago to get it fixed again. The hardest part of that last one is waiting for the insurance approval after his doctor gives a referral. They seem to be a little busy these days....
Oh, how I love my regular old Medicare!
The neighborhood still remains quiet. Over the last month, I've counted a total of 5 fire/rescue vehicles, about 10% of normal. The walkers are still out getting their exercise, but neighbors aren't poking their heads out much. Across the street the car sits in the driveway, indicating her job may have finally closed. I got out in the yard yesterday for a bit, pulling weeds growing among plants I can't spray, and taking the next in the sequence of pictures I'm taking to document the flowering of the neighbors' - on both sides - palms, my octopus agave, and the orange bells in the back yard. Bonuses include bees and the resident hummingbird. Other critters are getting sparse, probably meaning neighbors have quit feeding them, aka quit shopping for non-necessities. I miss the quail, but you can't feed them without also feeding pigeons and rabbits.
The cleaning out of cupboards led to finally putting out roach bait and a re-application of 20 mule team borax around gaps between counter and walls. Immediate results provided a dead roach on the counter the next morning. I can only assume hidden results are equally effective. Since Rich saw a "roof rat" last summer, I'd picked up mouse bait a while back. I finally opened that and put some out last night. It was gone this morning. Think I'll give it another go in a week or so, see it it's still being taken.
One of the RCSC employees that I've gotten contact with over several years, due to being an officer in the club, just sent out an email reminding us of forms which need filling out and deadlines. Knowing we likely have them locked up inside the rec centers, she helpfully sent copies of the forms. I responded by thanking her/them for keeping the centers closed, to which she replied they were grateful for such. It seems - predictably - that plenty of "entitled" folk are heaping criticism and abuse upon them for keeping us all safer, adding her "uninformed" estimate that the centers would likely reopen June 1. Pools again!!!!
Ancillary to that, our Governor has finally closed golf curses (and barbershops, nail salons, etc.) as being non-essential businesses. We happened to drive past the nearest course yesterday. The expected grounds crews were out. No biggie. But we also counted half a dozen golf carts on the paths. The carts were noted as keeping a 6-foot distance. Of course, they were parked, and their owners collecting around the tees.
Sigh.
It's going to be a long haul.
Rich is going through the paperwork for a new job! It'll be doing security, much like he did for several years in Minnesota. He'll be assigned a regular location, not going from venue to venue, and regular hours, as opposed to super loads part of the year and barely any other times. He anticipates starting Monday. I alternate between rejoicing for him and worrying that this job will require occasional close contact.
As for the other kids, this was to be the week Steph came down for a visit. Cancelled, obviously. And Paul, being Paul, is no doubt playing his video games. I'll know something is wrong only by his not paying the mortgage on the house. He does not answer phones or reply to voice- or emails. I have no idea whether his company is considered essential. Last time I actually talked to him was around a month ago... because the internet was down!
Yeah, that's my guy.
I have two friends in Minnesota who've recovered from what they think was Covid 19, but because they didn't register high fevers, they couldn't get tested. They've never felt more miserable while sick, but have no clue whether it's not safe for them to be out and about. Without testing, they can choose to either huddle or ignore possible risks. She has long had medical assistants come to the house, and they do still come wearing masks, possibly using them up where not needed. Minnesota is doing a relatively good job, but it's still FUBAR out there.
Hell of a job, Donnie. Emphasis on HELL!
Our Mango Mussolini insists that his signature stamp be on all outgoing checks for small business loans. This is expected to slow the distribution of those checks by about 4 weeks. This begs the question: does he insist on having control/oversight over those relief funds in order to put his name out there as if he were actually accomplishing something? Kinda like on those CDC postcards offering information and recommendations? Or is it "just" a simple grift, money going to his friends and supporters, especially ones he has financial interests in, yet another way of lining his pockets? Or is the delay meant to distract us from finding out that he has other designations in mind for the funds?
Then again, why not all three? We do know this guy, right?
So there was one plan to go out again.
When I got up this morning he informed me he'd driven up to Fry's, our main grocery store, before 6:00 AM, when they open. He had a small list, not the huge one he'd written out a couple days ago until I reminded him the fridge didn't have room for even half of his list. I'd been telling him that their parking lot was jam packed every morning I'd gone by around 7:00 AM, and had expectations their customers all figured out that the TP and other necessities ran out first thing.
Recall right here that the morning temperature was around 50 degrees, and the car barely warms up by the time he gets there. I'm trying to keep that in mind as I write this.
Seeing the line coming out the front door, down the front of the building, around its corner to the back road where delivery trucks unload, he changed his mind about his early morning run. He sensibly came straight home, no half hour warm-up in the store, no rise in ambient outside temperature, slight heating in the car. When I woke shortly after, he was huddled in his chair, shivering and miserable, asking about turning on the heat.
The thermostat registered one degree below where it's set. I proposed he put his sweatshirt back on, add socks and blanket, and check in an hour or so later on how he was feeling. If he was still chilled, I would turn on the heat. (It's been off for a week, with inside temps ranging from 72 to 78 regardless.) He agreed. And pulled up his blanket. An hour later, he finally got socks, put on his sweatshirt, declared he was still miserable, shivering, and going to bed - just as soon as we finished watching last night's Rachel Maddow Show.
WOW! He's a fan now! No wonder, it's the best news coverage around these days, but he's been avoiding "politics" for a long time. Gets enough rage from Facebook.
Just before he left the room, I laid my wrist across his forehead. It was warm. Not neutral, as usual. Warm. While he was on his way down the hall, I was on the phone cancelling his afternoon doctor's appointment due to possible fever. (I think I detected a pinch of gratitude on their part over the phone.)
While he tries to sleep, or just quit shivering, I'm waiting. Trying to keep in mind this could be a simple reaction to having gotten chilled. Trying to believe all his/our precautions have been foolproof. Knowing we keep no precautions between us, counting on social isolation to do what we don't. And, because it's a particular talent of mine, worrying.
That always goes with planning. What if....? Then....? For myself, I figure my weak spot, virus-wise, is my history of cardiac arrhythmia. The pacemaker takes care of part, and the ablation has done a decent job of the rest, so long as I don't overdo the caffeine. Yesterday, thanks to my Watchman, was even my very last blood thinner pill! But... I don't trust the ablation to "hold" in critical circumstances. So my 1st reaction, if I suspect the virus, will be increasing my vitamin C, the second requesting a short-term refill of amiodarone. It worked perfectly while I was taking it, only quitting due to early indications of toxicity, but I figure short term use won't do much harm, certainly not as much as relapse of arrhythmia.
For Steve, I work on trying to figure out how he can still get his stent removed. It's gotten painful for several days now. Just like mine did back when, it seems to have shifted to find the pokiest spot possible within the bladder. He's supposed to have both the imaging and removal appointments Monday. Today's appointment was for something else, easily rescheduled ... if he's not sick. He also - again if he's not sick - needs to go back to the ENT who fixed his vertigo in five minutes a couple years ago to get it fixed again. The hardest part of that last one is waiting for the insurance approval after his doctor gives a referral. They seem to be a little busy these days....
Oh, how I love my regular old Medicare!
The neighborhood still remains quiet. Over the last month, I've counted a total of 5 fire/rescue vehicles, about 10% of normal. The walkers are still out getting their exercise, but neighbors aren't poking their heads out much. Across the street the car sits in the driveway, indicating her job may have finally closed. I got out in the yard yesterday for a bit, pulling weeds growing among plants I can't spray, and taking the next in the sequence of pictures I'm taking to document the flowering of the neighbors' - on both sides - palms, my octopus agave, and the orange bells in the back yard. Bonuses include bees and the resident hummingbird. Other critters are getting sparse, probably meaning neighbors have quit feeding them, aka quit shopping for non-necessities. I miss the quail, but you can't feed them without also feeding pigeons and rabbits.
The cleaning out of cupboards led to finally putting out roach bait and a re-application of 20 mule team borax around gaps between counter and walls. Immediate results provided a dead roach on the counter the next morning. I can only assume hidden results are equally effective. Since Rich saw a "roof rat" last summer, I'd picked up mouse bait a while back. I finally opened that and put some out last night. It was gone this morning. Think I'll give it another go in a week or so, see it it's still being taken.
One of the RCSC employees that I've gotten contact with over several years, due to being an officer in the club, just sent out an email reminding us of forms which need filling out and deadlines. Knowing we likely have them locked up inside the rec centers, she helpfully sent copies of the forms. I responded by thanking her/them for keeping the centers closed, to which she replied they were grateful for such. It seems - predictably - that plenty of "entitled" folk are heaping criticism and abuse upon them for keeping us all safer, adding her "uninformed" estimate that the centers would likely reopen June 1. Pools again!!!!
Ancillary to that, our Governor has finally closed golf curses (and barbershops, nail salons, etc.) as being non-essential businesses. We happened to drive past the nearest course yesterday. The expected grounds crews were out. No biggie. But we also counted half a dozen golf carts on the paths. The carts were noted as keeping a 6-foot distance. Of course, they were parked, and their owners collecting around the tees.
Sigh.
It's going to be a long haul.
Rich is going through the paperwork for a new job! It'll be doing security, much like he did for several years in Minnesota. He'll be assigned a regular location, not going from venue to venue, and regular hours, as opposed to super loads part of the year and barely any other times. He anticipates starting Monday. I alternate between rejoicing for him and worrying that this job will require occasional close contact.
As for the other kids, this was to be the week Steph came down for a visit. Cancelled, obviously. And Paul, being Paul, is no doubt playing his video games. I'll know something is wrong only by his not paying the mortgage on the house. He does not answer phones or reply to voice- or emails. I have no idea whether his company is considered essential. Last time I actually talked to him was around a month ago... because the internet was down!
Yeah, that's my guy.
I have two friends in Minnesota who've recovered from what they think was Covid 19, but because they didn't register high fevers, they couldn't get tested. They've never felt more miserable while sick, but have no clue whether it's not safe for them to be out and about. Without testing, they can choose to either huddle or ignore possible risks. She has long had medical assistants come to the house, and they do still come wearing masks, possibly using them up where not needed. Minnesota is doing a relatively good job, but it's still FUBAR out there.
Hell of a job, Donnie. Emphasis on HELL!
Our Mango Mussolini insists that his signature stamp be on all outgoing checks for small business loans. This is expected to slow the distribution of those checks by about 4 weeks. This begs the question: does he insist on having control/oversight over those relief funds in order to put his name out there as if he were actually accomplishing something? Kinda like on those CDC postcards offering information and recommendations? Or is it "just" a simple grift, money going to his friends and supporters, especially ones he has financial interests in, yet another way of lining his pockets? Or is the delay meant to distract us from finding out that he has other designations in mind for the funds?
Then again, why not all three? We do know this guy, right?
Monday, April 6, 2020
Let God Sort It Out?
Actual human justice would mandate that those who are spreading Covid 19 would be the ones also taking the worst hits from it. Ahhh, if only.
Recent deep diving into the statistics is showing an appalling trend. It's hitting hardest in our minority populations. You can't take the racist viewpoint on this, thinking they are weak, inferior stock, or deserving somehow. But you must take the race-informed view that acknowledges these are the communities with the least economic resources, the most need to work despite the risks, the least able to afford good healthcare coupled with being the last to consider how necessary the expense of a doctor's visit is. They have been pushed into the worst housing, given the worst education, and are taken the most advantage of. WE have made them the most vulnerable to a pandemic.
Were there true human justice, we would be the ones hit hardest instead. But when has there been true justice? No wonder religion plays such a part in so many daily lives, particularly those with an afterlife for the "worthy." It's the revenge of the faithful victim against the evil oppressor, and it lasts forever. It has its appeal.
Ever heard of Pastor Tony Spell, of Life Tabernacle Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana? Perhaps you just don't recognize the name, but have heard the story. He got arrested for holding a church service defying the Governor's order to not meet in large groups due to the virus. When he was released, he went ahead and held another service, this time attracting over 1,200 people. Couldn't do it over You Tube or something, or released a digital sermon, prayed with members of his flock over the phone, don'cha know. Nope. None of those bring in the bucks. He's complained about the government violating his 1st amendment rights of freedoms of religion and assembly. He's threatened to sue. Oh my!
Of course, what he is really doing is spreading the virus even worse than Louisiana has it now.
Here's a really radical idea. Let him hold his services. Sure, why not? Just never let any members of his flock back out into the community, not till the virus has run its full course through the congregation, and everybody has either died, recovered, or remained immune. Lock and chain the doors, board over the windows except to let fresh air filter through, keep the water and electricity going, deliver food, and, if you can locate some, toilet paper. In a pinch, maybe all those paper dollars they brought will wipe butts just fine. Might clog the pipes, though....
Let them worship their God as a community. And let their God sort it out. Who lives? Who dies? Who's left so sick they wish they'd died?
We might have to argue afterwards, of course, on whether this is human justice or God's justice. Maybe just plain old injustice. But they don't get the opportunity to kill the rest of us.
Now, what can we do about those Governors who insist their populations must violate social distancing by opening their businesses back up, letting everybody cluster in parks and on beaches...?
Recent deep diving into the statistics is showing an appalling trend. It's hitting hardest in our minority populations. You can't take the racist viewpoint on this, thinking they are weak, inferior stock, or deserving somehow. But you must take the race-informed view that acknowledges these are the communities with the least economic resources, the most need to work despite the risks, the least able to afford good healthcare coupled with being the last to consider how necessary the expense of a doctor's visit is. They have been pushed into the worst housing, given the worst education, and are taken the most advantage of. WE have made them the most vulnerable to a pandemic.
Were there true human justice, we would be the ones hit hardest instead. But when has there been true justice? No wonder religion plays such a part in so many daily lives, particularly those with an afterlife for the "worthy." It's the revenge of the faithful victim against the evil oppressor, and it lasts forever. It has its appeal.
Ever heard of Pastor Tony Spell, of Life Tabernacle Church in Baton Rouge, Louisiana? Perhaps you just don't recognize the name, but have heard the story. He got arrested for holding a church service defying the Governor's order to not meet in large groups due to the virus. When he was released, he went ahead and held another service, this time attracting over 1,200 people. Couldn't do it over You Tube or something, or released a digital sermon, prayed with members of his flock over the phone, don'cha know. Nope. None of those bring in the bucks. He's complained about the government violating his 1st amendment rights of freedoms of religion and assembly. He's threatened to sue. Oh my!
Of course, what he is really doing is spreading the virus even worse than Louisiana has it now.
Here's a really radical idea. Let him hold his services. Sure, why not? Just never let any members of his flock back out into the community, not till the virus has run its full course through the congregation, and everybody has either died, recovered, or remained immune. Lock and chain the doors, board over the windows except to let fresh air filter through, keep the water and electricity going, deliver food, and, if you can locate some, toilet paper. In a pinch, maybe all those paper dollars they brought will wipe butts just fine. Might clog the pipes, though....
Let them worship their God as a community. And let their God sort it out. Who lives? Who dies? Who's left so sick they wish they'd died?
We might have to argue afterwards, of course, on whether this is human justice or God's justice. Maybe just plain old injustice. But they don't get the opportunity to kill the rest of us.
Now, what can we do about those Governors who insist their populations must violate social distancing by opening their businesses back up, letting everybody cluster in parks and on beaches...?
A New/Old Solution
Remember that broken wicker loveseat?
Yeah, that really happened. All of it. No April Fooling, if anybody was confused.
It got dragged down the driveway for the next morning's garbage pickup. And - I bet you won't be surprised - the truck left without taking it. I wasn't totally surprised, even though they had taken our broken wicker chair a few weeks earlier. So it was probably time to call up the company and find out what was necessary for the loveseat to be hauled away.
Think $$$$$.
I just never got around to calling their office. There wasn't a lot of spare in the budget, after all. Even the simplest weddings put a drain on it. I'm trying not to raise the amount on the magic credit card these days, and Social Security payments have their schedule that do not always match our wish lists. Nobody ever heard of "overtime retirement" at time-and-a-half, did they? So the call just hadn't gotten around to being made.
Steve and I had discussed how to demolish the thing into littler pieces. A saw? Lots of work. An axe? Both too dangerous and we'd have to go to the store to get one, meaning I'd have to make a face mask, something else that was getting postponed. Pruners? More work and even more mess. So it sat, down at the end of the driveway, next to our buried garbage can, as Sun City does them. Saves us from having to haul anything down on a regular basis other than the bin for recyclables.
Steve came up with an idea last night. He'd been online, and reading that Corona Beer was ceasing production due to its unfortunate name and the idiocy of their former customer base had prompted it for him. How about if he took his own remaining few Corona beers, popped them in the fridge to cool, and sat down at the end of the driveway around 6 AM when the truck came by, offering them to the crew as a bribe to remove the loveseat? I made it even simpler for him, reminding him that they couldn't consume them while on the job, and the beer would be warm anyway by the end of shift, so he might as well not bother chilling the beers.
I also recalled a conversation from the club. A regular fellow named Earl used to use beer or water, depending on the heat, to keep in the good graces of his garbage collectors when he had something extra needing to be hauled away, and on some days "just because." "A little appreciation never hurts," Earl would say, chuckling.
This morning I looked out when I came into the living room. The loveseat was gone. Steve was grinning. It had worked. He informed me he hadn't even gotten back up the driveway before that eyesore was in the truck and it was on its way.
Yeah, that really happened. All of it. No April Fooling, if anybody was confused.
It got dragged down the driveway for the next morning's garbage pickup. And - I bet you won't be surprised - the truck left without taking it. I wasn't totally surprised, even though they had taken our broken wicker chair a few weeks earlier. So it was probably time to call up the company and find out what was necessary for the loveseat to be hauled away.
Think $$$$$.
I just never got around to calling their office. There wasn't a lot of spare in the budget, after all. Even the simplest weddings put a drain on it. I'm trying not to raise the amount on the magic credit card these days, and Social Security payments have their schedule that do not always match our wish lists. Nobody ever heard of "overtime retirement" at time-and-a-half, did they? So the call just hadn't gotten around to being made.
Steve and I had discussed how to demolish the thing into littler pieces. A saw? Lots of work. An axe? Both too dangerous and we'd have to go to the store to get one, meaning I'd have to make a face mask, something else that was getting postponed. Pruners? More work and even more mess. So it sat, down at the end of the driveway, next to our buried garbage can, as Sun City does them. Saves us from having to haul anything down on a regular basis other than the bin for recyclables.
Steve came up with an idea last night. He'd been online, and reading that Corona Beer was ceasing production due to its unfortunate name and the idiocy of their former customer base had prompted it for him. How about if he took his own remaining few Corona beers, popped them in the fridge to cool, and sat down at the end of the driveway around 6 AM when the truck came by, offering them to the crew as a bribe to remove the loveseat? I made it even simpler for him, reminding him that they couldn't consume them while on the job, and the beer would be warm anyway by the end of shift, so he might as well not bother chilling the beers.
I also recalled a conversation from the club. A regular fellow named Earl used to use beer or water, depending on the heat, to keep in the good graces of his garbage collectors when he had something extra needing to be hauled away, and on some days "just because." "A little appreciation never hurts," Earl would say, chuckling.
This morning I looked out when I came into the living room. The loveseat was gone. Steve was grinning. It had worked. He informed me he hadn't even gotten back up the driveway before that eyesore was in the truck and it was on its way.
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
April 1, 2020
Love In The Time Of Chole... uhh...Covid 19.
There is a morning trip to the courthouse to procure the license. Rules are well followed here. A security guard sits outside the doors, checking everybody's bona fides for getting in. Do they have a court case? Are they an employee? Official? Or have they gotten their appointment online for this time slot to be the only ones in their particular line? April Fools Day was the first open appointment, and gratefully accepted.
A code from their confirming email must be entered before they can proceed, armed with not just that code but also a filled-in form, IDs (only from a particular list which qualify) and funds to pay for the license and certified copies of proof the ceremony was properly performed and witnessed.
Precautions must be followed during the afternoon ceremony itself. A qualified officiant has been procured along with the requisite two witnesses. The latter has been a challenge due to loss of friends ... due to migrations, fortunately, not the pandemic.
For both shade on a hot day, and space for distancing, the carport has been emptied of its vehicle, swept, and filled with carefully spaced chairs, seating for the five. A small table holds a bowl of ice and bottled water, and a plate of (gluten free) cookies. Napkins and a vase of pussy willows have been relocated from the house to complete the set-up, preventing further need to head out for more shopping. Attire of all is suited to the weather, something that might be called backyard barbeque casual were there a backyard barbeque in progress.
During the reception, the couple fell for each other again. One suggested it was due to the extra weight of the cookies. Regardless, they had been planning to replace that particular wicker loveseat soon anyway, so no real damage ensued. Both were easily extracted.
No hands are shaken, no hugs exchanged, just two rings and a kiss are physically exchanged during a brief ceremony. A document is signed. Smiles, good wishes and thanks are expressed, and the participants return to their previous plans for social distancing.
Hopefully spirits have been lifted for all, at least for a time. Otherwise, no lives have been changed, except in the eyes of the State, noted once a particular envelope arrives in their mailroom and is processed.
We lovers may be fools. April foolishness doesn't have to be a prank. But you can decide.
There is a morning trip to the courthouse to procure the license. Rules are well followed here. A security guard sits outside the doors, checking everybody's bona fides for getting in. Do they have a court case? Are they an employee? Official? Or have they gotten their appointment online for this time slot to be the only ones in their particular line? April Fools Day was the first open appointment, and gratefully accepted.
A code from their confirming email must be entered before they can proceed, armed with not just that code but also a filled-in form, IDs (only from a particular list which qualify) and funds to pay for the license and certified copies of proof the ceremony was properly performed and witnessed.
Precautions must be followed during the afternoon ceremony itself. A qualified officiant has been procured along with the requisite two witnesses. The latter has been a challenge due to loss of friends ... due to migrations, fortunately, not the pandemic.
For both shade on a hot day, and space for distancing, the carport has been emptied of its vehicle, swept, and filled with carefully spaced chairs, seating for the five. A small table holds a bowl of ice and bottled water, and a plate of (gluten free) cookies. Napkins and a vase of pussy willows have been relocated from the house to complete the set-up, preventing further need to head out for more shopping. Attire of all is suited to the weather, something that might be called backyard barbeque casual were there a backyard barbeque in progress.
During the reception, the couple fell for each other again. One suggested it was due to the extra weight of the cookies. Regardless, they had been planning to replace that particular wicker loveseat soon anyway, so no real damage ensued. Both were easily extracted.
No hands are shaken, no hugs exchanged, just two rings and a kiss are physically exchanged during a brief ceremony. A document is signed. Smiles, good wishes and thanks are expressed, and the participants return to their previous plans for social distancing.
Hopefully spirits have been lifted for all, at least for a time. Otherwise, no lives have been changed, except in the eyes of the State, noted once a particular envelope arrives in their mailroom and is processed.
We lovers may be fools. April foolishness doesn't have to be a prank. But you can decide.
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