random thoughts – Day 2,372 (Saturday) – seasonal gifts

Turning to gold.

The season is changing and nature is delivering gifts. The leaves on the tree out front have a couple spots where the leaves have already shifted from green to something akin to the Harvest Gold color that was popular in the 1970s. The yard needs mowing again, but there won’t be too many more needed and before too long, shoveling the stairs and walk will be the required yard activity.

Out back, the goldenrod is hanging on with golden color and is still attracting pollinators. I’m so glad I didn’t mow it down. According to some guides, the first autumn frost is roughly six weeks after the goldenrod begins to bloom, and based on that lore, we'll be waking up to frost almost any minute now. There are a couple random plants with fluffy balls like dandelion puffs mixed in the goldenrod crop. 

There is a massive pine tree in the woods that stands two or three times the height of the house. It dropped a couple large and lovely pine cones in the yard. Soon the showers of pine needles will commence.

Still golden.

A bear passed, unseen, through the back yard and left offerings of scat two days this week. At least a dozen holes of varying size and depth appeared seemingly overnight, dug by unknown critter vandals.

Elsewhere in the neighborhood, and acorns litter the edge of the street and the tips of a few tree branches have turned red. One tree I passed today has been suddenly liberated of its leaves, but the branches still have some crabapple things dangling like holiday ornaments.

random thoughts – Day 2,371 (Friday) – 25 years ago

 Note: This is a reprint of my post about 9/11 from September 11, 2021. 

On a long ago Tuesday morning, I drove down Providence Boulevard (Rt 41A), crossed the Red River, and continued to Franklin Street in downtown Clarksville, Tennessee. It was the sixth day of my new job as a staff writer at Our City, the free weekly newspaper covering news and entertainment for Clarksville, Hopkinsville, and Fort Campbell. Each Wednesday since arriving in Clarksville in March, I had made it a point to find a rack and grab a copy of the paper. I was thrilled to be working in my second professional job as a full-time writer and the first writing job with bylines. 

My assigned beat was Hopkinsville and Christian County, Kentucky, just over the state line down Highway 41A past Fort Campbell (Home of the 101st Airborne). It required attending County Commission and City Council meetings, and covering the occasional arts event. Even though government and politics had never been an area of interest for me, I would have gladly covered trash pickup routes if assigned.

That sunny morning, I parked in the designated spot outside the building and headed inside to my desk. On Tuesdays, the writers would be busy working on the following week’s story assignments, the sales folks would be selling ads to pay for the printing of those stories, and a large newspaper publisher in Nashville would be printing the current week’s issues which would hit our distribution racks the next day.

I had barely made it to my seat that particular morning when the desk phone rang with a call from the husband/reason I was in Clarksville. He was at home during what would turn out to be his last couple weeks of a job search. He asked if I had heard the news, then told me what was playing out on TV at the World Trade Center. Meanwhile, phones were suddenly ringing all over the office with calls for colleagues with the same horrible news. Shock rippled through the office. There were tears.

The surreal day unfolded. We covered local news and events, and there was no TV in the office. We were in the weird space of knowing that terrible things were happening and being largely cut off from the streams of information. The rarely used radio was turned on and played throughout the space. It wasn’t enough, and during the day our group made several trips next door to a neighboring business to crowd in their conference room to watch the coverage on their TV.

At home, the wretched day became a freakish night glued to the TV news. The Ex and his active duty friends wondered if he might be called back for active duty, having just retired from the army in February. Calls were made to and from family around the country. Time lost its usual cadence. The roulette wheel of emotions would settle briefly on numb, angry, shocked, or sad, before moving on to another and then another.

Fort Campbell heightened its security to Threatcon Delta, its highest level. Access was limited to one gate and no visitors were allowed. All military personnel were required to present IDs to enter and the traffic stretched down Highway 41A for miles in each direction.

On Wednesday, the upcoming issue’s cover story was reformatted. We writers hit the phones and the streets to interview people for their reactions to the events of the previous day. I crossed the state line into Kentucky to chat with people in parking lots and lunch spots.

My first issue with published articles is the September 19, 2001 issue with the cover article titled, “September 11, 2001: What We’ll Remember.” People we interviewed expressed feelings of shock, fear, grief, and pain. They told us about the phone calls they made or received upon hearing the news. One woman told me her mother-in-law called her with the news and to express her firm belief that it was “biblically, the end of time.” A Rite Aid worker told me the store had sold out of its entire stock of American flags.

At a popular Hopkinsville burger diner,  I overheard someone in the lunch crowd say, “We are going to see things we have never seen before in this country.” They were prophetic words 20 years ago, and they still ring true today.

random thoughts – Day 2,370 (Thursday) – shopping and playing

Thursday often means time spent with Mom and Sis and today, we went shopping. Sis hoped that Ocean State Job Lot would have a few specific things she needed and we set out.

The store was a bit chaotic. U-boats loaded with products or in some cases, empty boxes, clogged several aisles, which are already a bit narrow. I was nearly run over by the same woman and her shopping cart at least three times. There seemed to be an abundance of manager-level types scurrying around. A woman sat atop a tall ladder organizing boxes on the top shelf and explained to a guy standing at the bottom that the coffee would be separated by decaf and caffeinated. I was standing in an aisle nearby and overheard this conversation between colleagues.

Guy: I like your shirt. (From where I was standing in, the back of it seemed to be a plain dark blue short sleeved tee shirt.)

Gal: Thanks! I got it at TJ Max. Or maybe it was Marshall’s. I like it a lot. It’s not too clingy. I sweat a lot, like a LOT, and I hate it when my shirt sticks to me.

Okay, then. 

As the coffee was being stacked nearly to the ceiling, another managerial type came around the corner quickly and nearly crashed into me and a worker. At the end of another aisle near the doors to the stockroom, a guy wrestled with a Ty branded round tiered shelf display. He tried to nudge a board with wheels on it under the fixture and it wasn’t going well. I was trapped in the aisle so I tried to find the trail mix I like. The fixture was successfully relocated, but the trail mix wasn’t found.

The pause while trapped in various locations by abandoned shopping carts and retail tools was a nice little break for me. I had been busy tidying merchandise in various aisles while searching for the things I wanted. The toothpaste was messy. The socks were all mixed up. The office supplies looked like a cyclone tore through (I fixed them). The canvas panels were disorganized and I had to sort them in my quest for the smallest canvases available (none suitable found). 

Shut the Box.

Straightening store merchandise seems to be the form of volunteer work to which I am naturally suited. I did the same thing in the crafts department at WalMart yesterday, tidying the stencils, the paints, and all the little wooden shapes and letters for craft projects, because one empty bin had an image of a paw and I wanted to find said paw. Instead, I found crown, bird, and gnome shapes scattered everywhere and got them set back where they belonged. I should probably get myself a paying gig with an employee discount.

After the shopping, we couldn’t figure out what to do next, so we went back to Mom’s. I grabbed the new Shut the Box game from my house and we played that for a while. We were devising ways to turn it into a gambling game, and then we read the pamphlet in the box and learned it’s a traditional pub game often played for money so we were clearly on the trad-pub track. Today was considered our practice run, and the next time we may be playing for cash.

random thoughts – Day 2,369 (Wednesday) – breaking up, moving on happily

Bob Ross!

After a nearly decade-long relationship, Xfinity and I have broken up. It was a long time coming, mostly because in both cities I’ve lived in, I was waiting for there to be an alternative available in my area. I was excited when I saw the new provider’s trucks and techs working in my neighborhood several months ago. A postcard campaign followed and I responded by phone and again online, and last week, the promised message to schedule installation arrived and today was that most glorious and exalted day.

The installation window was between 10 and 12 and the technician arrived at 10:15. Magical cable was strung to a new box on the house, a modem and router were connected, and the account was set up. The installer said his colleague was doing an installation down the street and I’m the second house on the neighborhood to be connected. Danggit. If I’d taken the 8-10 installation slot I could have been first in the hood.

The installation was easy, just like the company claims. Cancelling the old service was a little less easy. First there was the quest of reaching a human, which required getting past the gatekeeping recording and then dealing with the “AI Assistant” Boss. The “Assistant” asked the reason of the call (“I want to cancel service”). It asked if I wanted to “review service” or “downgrade service.” I repeated “cancel service” in a highly enunciated, probably bordering on aggressive manner. Then the robot said “discontinue service.” Right. Because that is how mere mortals talk. Yes, “DISCONTINUE.” At least I was finally connected to a human.

The robot may prefer pretentious-speak, but the human was well versed in sales-speak. She thanked me for being a customer since December 2016, asked how she should help (“cancel my service”), then why I was cancelling (“I have a new provider and it is $100 a month less expensive”). She went into a spiel about their other “new lower priced tiers and packages” blah blah blah. She asked when I got my latest pricing info, said she didn’t see any calls logged on my account, then seemed to suggest it was my fault for not knowing they had lower priced packages because I never called to ask. I told her the menu and AI hell involved in calling were a huge deterrent, but I used their online tool which informed me I was already getting the best package and price. I wish I told her I wasn’t aware of the need for an annual college level research project into my pricing.

Anyway. The cancellation order was placed as of 11:59 tonight and I will be receiving a refund of a chunk of the payment made last week. That got us into the return of the TV box, power cord/adapter, and remote. The two options were to bring it to The UPS Store, which required an 18-mile trip to the only nearby location; or UPS could pick it at my house, which would require packing/boxing the equipment and printing a label, which is easy except for the part where I don’t have a printer.

At The UPS Store, the clerk was a delight, the other customers in line were fun, and the visit went by quickly and pleasantly. With a massive WalMart across the parking lot, I once again set aside my general objections to the place and went in. I had driven for a half hour, so I might as well make it worth the journey.

New (mostly clearance) craft supplies!

The Leominster WalMart is spacious. The crafts section felt huge compared to Gardner’s. The pattern file drawers are labeled and there are pattern catalogues to browse. There is a larger inventory of pre-cut fabrics. There were items I didn’t recall seeing in Gardner in my many craft department visits, and I engaged in my renewed hobby of buying craft supplies with the purchase of reusable stencils, stencil brushes, and five clearance priced wood crafty frames (75 cents each!).

Then, I trudged the quarter mile across the store to the grocery section and discovered the store brand pints of sea salt caramel ice cream cost less in Leominster than what I paid in Gardner five days ago ($1.78 vs $1.96). And the Gardner price of five days ago was nine cents higher than what I paid a few weeks ago and it’s starting to feel like the same mysterious, magical pricing the old cable/internet company uses. Maybe WalMart thinks the Gardner folks are fancier or have deeper pockets or want us to call and ask for better pricing or something.

Back at home, it was a toss-up whether to finally explore the channels available through my Samsung Smart TV that I’ve had for many years, or start stenciling every smooth surface in the house. The TV exploration won (for now) and I learned I have a Bob Ross channel! Had I discovered this years ago I might be an expert at painting happy little trees for squirrels to play in. Bob Ross said, “It's so important to do something every day that will make you happy.” Well, today it was multiple things, including cutting the bondage of cable and shopping craft supplies. 

random thoughts – Day 2,368 (Tuesday) – tuesday monday

This morning I slept late. It was a little confusing and I even forgot to make coffee once I stumbled out of bed. I scrambled to dress and get the trash bin to the curb. The trash truck driver has switched things up the past few weeks and does my side of the street first now, eliminating the early warning system we used to have when the other side was picked up first. Maybe it’s vacation coverage. Or boredom from driving the streets in the same order week after week.

Breakfast.

After I rolled the bin to the curb, I went straight to Mom’s. We compared notes on the way that Monday holidays confuse the whole week. Tuesday feels like Monday, trash pickup is a day off, routines are disrupted. When she asked what I was doing today, I had to think for a second before I remembered it was dance day and accidentally made other plans.

When I finally got around to breakfast as it was creeping closer to lunchtime, it was three slivers cut from a mini zucchini bread extracted from the freezer on Monday. A schmear of cream cheese and some instant chai latte, and the latest book I got from the Little Library (Sweet Sweet Revenge Ltd. By Jonas Jonasson) and I was in business.

Unlike last week when I was lazy and dumb and it was raining and I decided to not go, I made it to dance today. It was great and I know because I broke a sweat. That doesn’t always happen. Despite the light sheen of sweat, my bare feet remained cold and slippery on the floor, making me mistrustful of my balance and stability on all turns and leaps. And there were so many turns. We went through an entire series of five or six turns back and forth across the floor. It nearly knocked me out with dizziness. Other than that, it was really fun.

The route I usually take home had a sign reading “Main Street Closed Ahead” so I took a longer route free of detours. It took me past a Market Basket and I popped in to check for hot prepared meals. There was nothing in the heater but rotisserie chicken and I ended up at the nearby refrigerated case for my second supper of grocery store sushi in a week’s time. The sushi was pretty good and the wasabi and ginger slices were both extra zingy. My sinus passages opened up and I could breathe freely for a nanosecond and that alone was worth the price.

As for the trash I rolled to the curb in the morning, it was never collected. The neighborhood is still dotted with trash and recycle bins. Maybe tomorrow.

random thoughts – Day 2,367 (Monday) – soup's on

On Labor Day in my past, I often spent the day engaging in the seasonal wardrobe changeover. White shoes and most of the strappy sandals would be stashed away until Memorial Day. Autumn hues, suede, lined booties, and winter white footwear would emerge from the depths of a storage box and begin to mingle in the closet.

Obviously summery fabrics would be swapped out for earth toned lightweight sweaters in silk and cotton, with cashmere and alpaca queued up to enter the scene the minute the temperature plunges to the chilly setting.

None of this happened today. What did happen, was the launch of soup season. Despite my love of the stuff, it was a minimal soup summer. Two containers of vegetable soup base have been in the freezer since spring. I had been chilly in the house all day and suddenly it felt like time and my brain switched to soup mode.

Maybe it's soup season.

Imagine my surprise when my chilly body with the soup mode brain went outside for a walk and it was warmer than in the house. The cardigan over my long-sleeve tee shirt was shed halfway through the walk. I opened the windows when I got back inside. Later, I checked the thermostat and saw it was 71 degrees in the house, which is closer to cold gazpacho soup season than hot soup.

Despite the actual warm air, the vision of hot soup lingered in my mind and there was no turning back. Plus, I haven’t gone grocery shopping and there aren’t any especially interesting ingredients in the pantry from which to produce an interesting meal.

A container of soup base was excavated from the far-left corner of the freezer. It got a bit of a summer treatment with the addition of summer squash, diced tomatoes, and onions sauteed in olive oil, plus a pour of half-and-half. Mixed frozen vegetables were added and a leftover chopped hot Italian sausage from the freezer. I had forgotten what was in the original broth, but as it transformed in the pot with the new vegetables from a frozen block to a liquid, carrots, onions, and potatoes appeared.

The bowl of steaming soup was topped with shredded parmesan cheese and plated with a side of Ritz crackers and it was good. So very good. The additions mean that the original quart of soup, even after I ate a large bowl, magically had 1.5 quarts left.

New broth scraps have been accumulating in the freezer all summer in preparation for fall soup season. Bags of onion skins and trimmings, broccoli stems, and Brussel sprouts trimmings are crammed in the cubbies on the freezer door, jockeying for space with bags of bread ends that I swear will one chilly day become chocolate bread pudding. Based on the inventory, it’s time to begin the next round of broth making.

A few hours after the hot soup supper, the next logical food and beverage step occurred. The switch in my brain was flipped, and even though it isn’t actually chilly, it was suddenly time for a mug of steaming fruit tea. This is an evening ritual from fall until spring. Tonight’s selection was black cherry tea.

The forecast for the rest of the week is temperatures in the mid to high 70s. Based on that, soup season may meet a brief delay and the freshly boosted veggie soup may be put back into the freezer.

random thoughts – Day 2,366 (Sunday) – dance show

Windows at Common Street Spiritual Center.

Another couple months gone by and now another Natick Dance Showcase. This time, I was 100 percent an audience member, in attendance to see some great belly dancing and to support my friend/dance bestie/duet partner/dance classmate.

It was a day of lounging around all day like a regular Sunday with no plans instead of the usual flurry of preparations required when I am dancing in the show. 

Sure, I showered and styled my hair, but it was the cool weather blowout and quick hit with the curling iron and not the more elaborate styling decision process for dancing. Makeup was a quick shoosh of eye shadow and not the more calculated effort of carefully chosen colors and eye liner that will allow for eyes to be seen many feet away. (and look generally garish up close). There were no concerns about foundation and blush that could potentially be washed out under stage lights. No worries about forgetting an important costume component like a veil or zills, just a shopping bag with Dance Bestie’s Tupperware containers from the delicious carrot cake cupcakes she baked for my birthday several weeks ago.

Soorati dancing to Possibilities.

My biggest responsibilities were being ready in time for the Bestie carpool pickup and making sure my phone was fully charged for photos. It was easy. It also all felt a bit odd. Instead of triple checking my costume bag, I puttered around the house and then started a new book. 

Once at Common Street Spiritual Center, I claimed a front row seat and browsed the vendors. I took pictures of the windows and their shadows, and the stage from the backstage area.

As for the show – it was another terrific production. The producer added some lighting effects which were an improvement for setting mood and vibe. The dancers and costumes, as always, were beautiful. Bestie was amazing in her solo, a gorgeous veil piece to “Possibilities” by the late Michael Hutchence of INXS. So beautiful.