random thoughts – Day 2,281 (Monday) – peaceful, yet weird

It was a mostly calm and peaceful day with not a lot going on. The weather was a perfect sunny, dry, and breezy spring day and a welcome relief from all the heat. It rained overnight, which in my opinion (not that anyone asked), is the ideal time for rain. I made it to the credit union to deposit checks. Laundry was done. Vacuuming occurred. 

It wasn’t all sunshine and breezes, though. There were entries posted in the not so idyllic side of the life accounting books.

Waiting to file a complaint.

The evening walk to the mailbox was weird. The past few evenings of walking have been kind of eerie. I have been the only person out and about in the neighborhood at 7:00 p.m. No cars passing by. No people tending gardens or sitting under carports chatting. No dog walkers. Nothing. Just me. It’s unnerving. Spooky, like in a creepy movie.

Earlier in the day, I tried to put Kiki’s collar on her. Previous attempts were a disaster. Today, as soon as she realized I was attempting to violate the fragile peace agreement we have been working under, she bolted from the bed and disappeared under it for several hours. When she re-emerged, she was meowing up a storm at me in her “I’d like to speak to a manger” tone.

Also, there was an odd sound this morning. I couldn’t tell if it was coming from the water heater or the nearby refrigerator. It wasn’t especially loud, it just seemed different than the normal house sounds. 

Tonight, when it was too late to do anything about it, I realized the freezer may be malfunctioning. This is the refrigerator/freezer bought last September that is not even one year old. The ice cream, which is usually hard as a rock, was very soft. The ice cubes in the tray, which are usually hard and brittle and shatter upon removal, felt more wet than usual. The English muffins were not the usual level of frozenness. I moved the setting from “recommended” more towards “coldest” and crossed my fingers. I hope there are no morning surprises like a freezer full of thawed food because I will likely lose my sh*t in a very unpeaceful manner.

random thoughts – Day 2,280 (Sunday) – staycation day

The weather was much kinder today than it was yesterday or Friday, but that doesn’t mean it inspired me to do much. Earlier in the week and as recently as yesterday, I had thought I might go to Rietta Ranch, a big outdoor Sunday morning flea market near me. I haven’t been to this flea market in at least a decade.  

It opens early (6:00), and the advice is to “go early” because the good stuff goes fast. This morning, the bedroom window was open and the air was cool and perfect for sleeping, so instead of my usual 6:30 extraction from bed, it was a little past 8:00. By the time I fully woke up, it might be creeping way beyond “early” for Rietta. I decided to skip to the flea market for the same reason I skip most out-of-the-home activities – I hadn’t made a plan to go with anyone and doing stuff alone feels like too much work. Instead, I shopped online for yard decor and ceiling fans and read about plants.

Backyard view.

Around 11:00, I popped out the back door to put something into the big recycle bin. That’s when I noticed my car. Even living under the carport, it is currently crusted with gross greenish-yellow pollen that I’ve been aware of for several days and haven’t made getting to a car wash a priority. That isn’t the part I noticed. What I saw this morning was that the back cargo door was raised in the open position. This means that Saturday, at around 4:30, when I took the emptied yard waste barrels out of the back I didn’t close the door and it was open all night. Oops.

There was a flashback to my Honda CRV and the button on the remote that popped open the back window on the cargo door. Once, a friend hit the button while moving my car after I broke my leg. After a couple weeks of recuperating on the couch, I needed something from the car and learned the battery was dead, drained by the rear cargo light that turned on weeks earlier on when the window was popped. I don’t know if the Jeep cargo area has a battery-draining light because I rarely go back there, but I figured I was going to find out soon enough.

Later in the afternoon, after I had finished reading a book, I decided to try starting the car. It worked, so I took a ride to drop the just-finished book back at the little library at the end of the street and then onward to the local credit union that isn’t my credit union. The closest location for my credit union is a couple towns away, but with the magic of technology,  I can withdraw money from my credit union’s account at other institutions’ ATMs and  make deposits in person, but today I wanted to know if I could deposit checks into my account using the not-my-credit-union’s ATM. I now know that is not a transaction option available to me and I’ll have to go tomorrow and visit the humans.

The evening air and temperature (in the 70s!) were comfortable and I thought about continuing the trimming of the overgrown hedges and rhododendrons. Then I thought about driving down the street to dispose of the trimmings before the rain that is predicted for tonight turns the contents of the trimmings barrel into a wet mess. The refreshing breezes, the absolute quiet of the neighborhood, and the view of the lush woods of the backyard conspired to remind me of a long-ago vacation cabin as I sprawled on the couch, reading a book as if I were on a vacation. Instead of yardwork, I did the next most logical thing and stayed in vacation/staycation mode reading a book. It was perfect.

random thoughts – Day 2,279 (Saturday) – slow motion

The day’s performance was at a small-town festival under a sunny, cloudless sky. There was a light breeze and it was slightly drier and less oppressive than Friday. but overall the word of the day was still “HOT.” There were hiccups, which usually happens.

There was no amplification system set up for our music when we arrived. Luckily, we arrive at least an hour before our stage time, and there was time to sort out the situation with the event organizer. Speakers appeared and were set up on the church steps behind our designated performance area on the hot pavement.

Baby donkeys!

We had a couple minutes to ooh and aah over the baby donkeys, baby goats, and larger goats with an alpaca. There were also bunnies in the pens with the young goats. So cute! The smell of the animals hung in the air. 

We learned the band scheduled to play before us hadn’t arrived yet and we were asked to take the stage earlier (this happens). That worked for us, as we were eager to get out of the heat as soon as possible. As we checked our placement on the pavement, the band finally arrived and parked in front of where we were planning to dance. Maybe they missed the seven of us standing in a cluster with our costumes sparkling in the blazing sun.

The organizer got the band vehicle moved to another location to unload their gear. There were a couple tents at the edge of the common right in front of us for a built-in audience. One of those was staffed by people in colonial period clothing including a woman in a dress, apron and white cap and a guy in colonial dress with a tricorn hat.

For two of our four dances, I was in the front row and during one of those dances, the guy in the colonial ensemble had a mishap that unfolded behind the guy taking video for the event as we were dancing. Somehow, the guy and the lawn chair he was sitting in tipped over sideways in prolonged, comical, slow motion. I saw it happen and it seemed like forever before anyone in his group came to his aid as he lay on his side on the ground, still in the chair. While dancing, I wondered if I shouldn’t leap to action to help him up because nobody else seemed to be moving. His crew finally mobilized and came to his aid. 

Later, our music cut out during the last dance. We learned the tablet it was playing from overheated. Yikes. After the dancing, I dropped off some stuff at the car, took off the spangles and returned to civilian life to visit the vendor tents. 

Back at home, despite the curtains and shades blocking the sun, the house temperature had crept back up to 83 degrees, almost the same as outside. I sat on the couch under the ceiling fan set on high speed. As I thought about the poor guy falling over in freakishly slow motion, I started laughing and couldn’t stop.

Bunny and trimmed tree.

Several hours later, I ventured outside to explore trimming the rhododendron and the tree out front with long, dangling branches. It was cooler outside than inside so the windows were opened and then the trimming began in an unhurried manner. The cargo area of the car was loaded with a giant flowerpot and a cardboard box filled with new trimmings, plus a trash can with yard waste that had been collected weeks ago. It was all brought to the neighborhood yard waste drop area. 

The next stop was WalMart to buy some ice cream. The store brand pints are quite good and cost a mere $1.87. One serving provides 25% of the daily recommendation of calcium, so as a reward for the yard work and to cover the calcium bases for the day, I ate the whole three serving container. A bunny meandered and dined in the front yard under the just trimmed tree.

random thoughts – Day 2,278 (Friday) – melty

It was melty again today, and a steady 85 degrees inside the house, even with windows, shades, and curtains closed. I really miss the central A/C at my former homes in both Lowell and Tennessee. It’s on the list for this house and moving up the ranks quickly. Historically, I haven’t been very bothered by heat, but so far, this year is killing me already.

Turkeys in the neighborhood.

I walked to the mailbox early in the afternoon and a faint breeze was perceptible and kept me from keeling over. Seeing two turkeys in a yard one street over from my house was a treat. They seemed unbothered by the heat and humidity.

Tomorrow is supposed to be in the 80s by noon when the dance troupe takes to the unshaded stage area at an outdoor festival. In preparation, today we changed our costuming from the heavy long skirts to lighter fabric skirts and cut the dance list from five dances to four. We like what we do, but aren’t really interested in heat stroke while doing it.

The contractor stopped by today to pick up a check and while he was here, still sweating from the job site he had just left, he installed the window A/C unit in the bedroom for me. The room is currently chilling at a more comfortable 75 degrees for overnight, while the rest of the house continues to hold steady at 84 degrees. Kiki is puzzled about the bedroom door that has never before today been closed as the room chills.

A decision will need to be made about the overnight bedroom climate control. Keeping the door closed and the A/C on will require Kiki to be on one side of it or the other. Any restrictions on her mobility and access have been imposed by her. For example, she refuses to walk into my bathroom. She only goes about two feet into the kitchen for food and water and scoots back out. She hasn’t seen a closed door since Lowell. This new development could be interesting.

random thoughts – Day 2,277 (Thursday) – socializing

The steaminess of the day made me glad I had the option to be indoors, at least until it was time to head to an outdoor event in Lowell. The City of Lowell hosted an event recognizing non-profit organizations, and I attended as part of the contingent from The Brush Gallery, one of the honorees.

The traffic heading east on Route 2 was lighter than the volume heading west, but I-495 was the usual crap shoot with congestion at Route 2 and even worse at the Lowell Connector. The A/C was blowing chilled air, the radio was playing alt-rock music, and I wasn’t on a tight timeline, so it was all okay as far as I was concerned.

I went to The Brush Gallery before going to the event, and was able to look at the Lowellscapes show, which opened last weekend as part of Lowell’s bicentennial celebration. It looks great. Each photographer has a wall of work, and the images cover varied scenes in color and black & white. Some of the images are from several decades ago, so it’s a nice mix of old and new.

Entertaining the kids.

From the gallery, three of us headed to JFK Plaza outside City Hall. The sun was blasting full force and it felt like a concrete sauna. Areas of shade and a periodic light breeze kept the crowd from keeling over. I saw a couple former bank colleagues and more fellow board members from my time with The Brush and it was fun to catch up a bit.

Long lines formed at the food trucks serving ice cream and chicken on one side of JFK Plaza, and the grill setup with hot dogs and hamburgers on the opposite side. Two jugglers in hot pink pants (that I now want) roamed the crowd and were a hit with the young kids in attendance. 

The group of teens standing nearby was not as impressed as the youngsters and I could hear their commentary about the tragedy of the little kids who will now grow up wanting to be jugglers. As I see it, there are worse things. And they kept the people in the long food lines entertained/distracted, and there is value in that. It was pretty impressive when one of the jugglers had a bowling ball, a big knife, and a bowler hat in motion.

There was a recognition ceremony for 65 or 70 local non-profit organizations. I must have spaced out somewhere along the proceedings, because when The Brush was recognized with a banner and a photo, I was not with my people in the photo tent next to the podium. Oh, no. I was at the ice cream truck ordering and then consuming a cup of cold and creamy “berry spice” ice cream (blueberry and black raspberry).  It was delicious, but I felt dumb when I looked over and saw the artists and board members from The Brush grouped for the photo. Oops.

Library book sale treasures.

Next door to City Hall, The Friends of Pollard Memorial Library were having their spring book sale. It was steamy in the room crammed with tables piled with books. Floor fans were a popular stop for a quick breeze during the shopping.

I went there in search of The High Calcium Low Calorie Cookbook. My target may have been too specific and I didn’t find a copy of that title, but I did find The Deliciously Cheesy Cookbook. My deli drawer is full of cheese and I can’t wait to get busy. I also got a couple paperbacks to continue my reading frenzy without interruption, so it was definitely a success. And a fun night overall.

random thoughts – Day 2,276 (Wednesday) – revisiting popularity

Type in a search term for pretty much anything on your mind, play a game on your phone, or inquire about a service, and you may soon become the recipient of a stream of ads (or worse, unsolicited phone calls) for said item and similar items. Oh, you like W*rds with Friends? Let us show you 1,000 ads for other games that are nothing like it. Dare to think about maybe getting some new eyeglasses or sandals and the ads will appear before the thought is completed. 

The digital ad onslaught is the updated technology version of the old junk mail printed on paper and filling the mailbox, and it can be even more annoying (just, no!). The junk postal mail could be tossed in the trash and you were free of it for a week or two, but the digital ads are nonstop.

The recent assertiveness of online ads and unsolicited sales calls has me remembering the good-old days of junk mail delivered by the postal service and the days when the national do not call registry actually worked. And because I value efficiency, here we go with a blast from the past.

From June 26, 2011: 

Suddenly Popular

I am suddenly popular. It doesn’t feel good.

This isn’t the high school “dramatic save to win the big game for your team and become the homecoming hero” type of popular. Neither is it the “get the broken front tooth capped, feel unselfconscious enough to finally smile, and suddenly the cool kids notice you” brand of  popular.  Nor is it the “work on an award-winning professional project and people take notice” popular.

It is more of a flashback to darker days of eventual enlightenment. 

My recent newfound popularity began shortly after accepting an offer I couldn’t refuse -- a one year subscription to W magazine for some ridiculously low price like $10. My introduction to that publication occurred during one glorious semester luxuriating at a junior college in Boston’s prestigious Back Bay, where our dormitory was once a hotel and W, the consumer publication from fashion industry cornerstone Women’s Wear Daily, was required reading for my fashion merchandising class. Even in the olden days of the 1980s when I was in college, the average W reader’s income was in the $50,000-plus range, and I gladly handed over a full week’s worth of minimum-wage, part-time retail salesclerk earnings for the joy of studying the pages, worshipping the designers, then carefully scissoring out images for collages to adorn the walls.

Upon my return to the Burg and the four-year institution I had taken brief leave of, I proceeded to paper my bedroom walls with fashion images from W and confound my mother with attempts at conversation about designers, super models, diamond jewelry, and high-end watches and automobiles that cost more than the combined incomes of everyone in my family. These things had no relevance in her world and she told me as much every time I tried to discuss with her the classic tank watch by Cartier, iconic wrap dress from Diane von Furstenburg or night club escapades at Studio 54. It felt like we were from two different planets.

Recently, a mailer arrived for a “special professional discount rate” W subscription. I don’t know what profession they refer to, but I don’t work in fashion, modeling, retail or publishing. Whatever. That was unimportant. It was my favorite magazine at a rate I could afford even in junior college!

Past experience with magazine solicitations (and those for credit cards) taught there is room to play hard to get. And if they didn’t play along, it was one less thing to feel guilty about not reading. I ignored the offer for a free tote bag with subscription and procrastinated until it was too late to get the red mock-croc purse. Ultimately, thinking they’d stop courting without some payoff, I succumbed to the lure of the ivory scarf, spread open the checkbook, and sent the subscription order.

Around the time the first issue of W arrived, so did an invitation to subscribe to Vogue, followed in turn by more subscription invitations -- Elle, O, Allure and Lucky.  Even Architectural Digest suddenly wants me, the owner of a circa 1958, 1,200 square foot brick ranch (they must be really desperate). Architectural Digest has fascinated me since the glamorous days of my 20s when I possessed dreams, aspirations, an inflated sense of myself, and drank on the periphery of the same social circle as someone whose downtown apartment was featured in that magazine. 

My 20s and 30s were heady times of shopping in the best stores and sewing garments from patterns by the prestigious designers featured in W to create a wardrobe that (I hoped) announced to the world I was successful (or at least on the way). Cocktails and pricey dinners at beautiful (non-chain) restaurants were weekly rituals where my friends and I dropped a cool $100 each on a Friday night meal and drinks. It felt like I was on my way to, well, someplace. It was exciting, and almost how I had once imagined my life would be, back when I thought about such things.

Life is so different now. These days, my primary goal is to get through the day and make it out the other side alive. Cocktails and fine dining are memories from the past not worth dwelling upon, because the contrast to today -- where I panic after spending $25 on a meal that provides leftovers for three days -- is just too depressing. Wardrobe shopping occurs almost exclusively in thrift stores, thanks to an annual income significantly less than it was ten years ago, before I gambled on a dream of love, cashed in my chips, and walked away from a well paying career in New England to marry and relocate to a place with limited opportunity and maximum sense of entrapment.

The magazine subscription of my past, the freshly revived (bittersweet) memories of a lifestyle gone, and the ensuing onslaught of attention from other magazines reminds me of something else from my history. 

There was a time when I was better-versed in the fine arts of flirting and the male gender actually acknowledged my existence (to my face) on a semi-regular basis. One starry night, while a student at the hometown college to which I defaulted (another story for another day), I made out with a certain guy upon whom I had been crushing -- a high school classmate, home on leave from the military. In those days, I was naive enough to believe that what happened between two people stayed between them, and also that he would call me, because he said he would. He never called, but his friends started ringing me up. Even the ones with steady girlfriends. 

After a couple weeks of the sudden, puzzling attention, I got the scoop from one of the guys by asking, “It sure does seem like all of [name omitted to avoid potential lawsuits]’s friends are calling me up lately. What’s going on?” He told me, and what I heard made me kind of mad. And ill. Apparently, my crush had not only shared, but embellished the facts of that one drunken night after Happy Hour at the Buttercup, and now the friends wanted a piece of some major action, which they had been told was me. 

Likewise, now it seems the W subscription database server is sharing with its peers, with the logical conclusion being, if my checkbook opened for W, it will also open for them. How adolescent. And erroneous.

random thoughts – Day 2,275 (Tuesday) – sunshine mow

It was another sunny, warm day and I could get used to this.  But it’s New England, so I know better.

The morning was spent organizing the five dance costumes for dress rehearsal tonight. Parts for each costume had been gathered in 2.5-gallon zipper bags which were jammed into two tote bags because one just wasn’t large enough. One skirt filled one big tote. A couple dancers had packed their costumes in suitcases, which might be the best approach, except for the part where I don’t think I have one the right size.

The grass was in the general zone of approaching shaggy and needing a mow. It could have waited another day or two, but I decided to get it over with. The back yard was shady at 2:00 this afternoon and the mowing went quickly, as far as I could go with the 50-foot extension cord.

It's a lie. I'm not.

The front yard was sunnier and had me in a full body sweat and swearing every time the plug liberated itself from the outlet behind the hedge at the front of the house. I finally went next door to get another extension cord from StepDad and the swearing stopped, but not the sweating. I was wearing a tee shirt declaring “Wicked Smaaht” and I definitely did not feel at all smart killing myself on the lawn in the heat, but I was in too deep to bail. It was 84 degrees, and if had had the sense to check the temperature then instead of just now, I would likely have waited for a cooler part of another day to mow the front yard.

I felt bad mowing the clover patch in the back yard and tried to mow around it but the effect was shabby and quite awful and it ended up being mowed. The front yard had no such concerns. By the time I finished mowing, I was drenched in sweat and my face was bright red, a color which lingered even after a refreshing shower and a couple hours had passed. There was no point going full-face makeup for rehearsal because I would never get it right over the redness. There will definitely be no lawn mowing for me next Tuesday, but once the show is done, it’s open season on the outdoor adventures.  It might be time to make some plans, which would actually be wicked smaaht.