“Remoted” Workday 192 / Day 290 (Thursday)

A more social NYE - 12-31-19.

It’s the eve of the New Year, a night often invested in social gatherings and merriment. Last year, my friend Jane and I attended another friend’s birthday party at The Fay Club in Fitchburg. There were neckties and jackets, sequins and beads. There was Macallan Scotch Whiskey, which is wonderful stuff.  

Conversations with other guests often started with the fun ice breaker “How do you know Glenn?” The birthday celebrant has traveled the world and through work in audio production, met many celebrities, so the answers were literally all over the place. The travel friends enjoyed asking us old schoolmates about the young version of our host. A fun chat with a Brit in town for the party touched on British TV shows and which incarnation of Doctor Who was the best, among other things.

This pandemic New Year’s Eve dawned with no plans. Zip. Nada. During our regular Thursday afternoon team meeting, colleagues revealed plans for pizza, Chinese food, and seafood. I had no supper plan and was looking at the possibility of a ramen brick or spending quality time reviewing recipes for the bunch of vegetables that arrived yesterday. After work, I snapped myself out of my lazy stupor and checked out my favorite delivery place. Seafood had been stuck in my head since the meeting and there was nary a fish stick in the house, just a can of tuna and a packet of salmon.

NYE Dinner for one, 12-31-20.

New Year’s Eve dinner for one evolved quickly from no plan to something slightly grander. There were “Cowboy Bites,” flagged on the menu as “NEW” and described as “Fried cheese, bacon, corn, jalapeno bites.” These are quite delicious. A fried seafood platter featured haddock, shrimp, scallops and clams plus French fries and cole slaw. Baklava was added, because, why not? Once dinner is bumping up on the cost of the usual grocery order, what’s another $3.50? Thanks to the wine club deliveries and Christmas gift baskets, there were several bottles to choose from, and it was chilled South African Chenin Blanc for the win. The plentiful platter means seafood leftovers to toss into meals for the next couple days. 

Entertainment options presented themselves as invitations to a live performance on Facebook by a Tennessee friend’s trio, and later, a Zoom cocktail party hosted by friends in Worcester. Online pandemic gatherings allow one to defy the challenges of distance and time and “attend” gatherings 1,200 miles apart. This could be a busy New Year’s Eve after all, without leaving the couch. That is pretty sweet.

“Remoted” Workday 191 / Day 289 (Wednesday)

The team at the auto shop has been in touch several times this week, and it’s been mostly good news. The situation is repairable. The cost estimate from the initial diagnosis went down by a couple hundred dollars after further diagnostic work. All in all, it’s going to be fine and the car will be ready tomorrow, and I’m spared the immediate need to shop for a car. This is a huge relief, because car shopping is one of the activities I hate most in life. There is no “dream car” in mind to speed things up, and hasn’t been one since college.

My first not-dream car.

My first car was a used 1977 Chrysler Cordoba and was not a dream car. The dream car at that moment was a blue Firebird I was going to call “Blue Bird,” but there was a delay getting a loan and someone else bought it before I could. I settled for what I could get, which turned out to be a total Grandpa car but it ran and had functioning air conditioning and I was in college and had limited options. 

Driving the Cordoba that stalled at red lights any time it rained was motivation to think ahead and save up for a future car. Back then, the version of the “dream car” cycled through Mercedes Benz, BMW, Jaguar, Corvette and any expensive car depicted in W Magazine or driven by people I knew from where I lived and worked. Life and finances and common sense prevented ever acquiring any of the dream cars when I still cared about them.

There hasn’t been a car model since my late 80s Honda Accord that I even care about. That car had two doors, flip-up headlights, and was champagne beige with a burgundy-brown interior. It had corners and angles and ran great for years of heavy driving until all of a sudden it was dripping oil that burned on the engine. Smoke would come from under the hood at red lights. When it finally died and I was forced to car shop, the sales reps would ask what kind of car I wanted. The only answer I had was “one that looks exactly like my Accord.” But by then, the cars all looked the same to me, with rounded edges like used art erasers. In frustration, the search was abandoned by settling for a two-door Nissan SX-SE that was coming off a lease program because it was available and not horrendously expensive.

Even the current CR-V, bought because a lady talking on a cell phone rammed into me and totaled the Nissan while I was stopped at a red light, was a case of settling. It appeased my now ex-husband, who insisted on a four-door vehicle because once a year we had house guests and needed an accessible back seat and his chosen dream pickup truck was too hard for passengers. Instead of the two-door sporty car I wanted, it ended up being a four-door soccer Mom vehicle, even though I was not a Mom, soccer or otherwise.

Hopefully, before it's time to car shop again, there will be a model I like. Fingers are crossed. And until then, I’ll keep maintaining the CR-V to avoid the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Remoted” Workday 190 / Day 288 (Tuesday)

Spaghetti squash cheese bake.

The ten-ton spaghetti squash roasted yesterday is going to take forever to be gone. This thing could have fed an entire family. For a week. I've already had two meals of it, with barely a dent made in the volume and no end in sight. In an effort to shorten the timeline, half of the squash was baked in a dish with grated cheeses. Supper was the highlight of the day. For 288 days, food is often the high point of the day. 

A baking dish was layered with spaghetti squash, then cheddar, then squash, then a mix of cheddar and gouda with jalapeno, a thin layer of squash, and a topping of bread crumbs. After 30 minutes it came out of the oven. Overall, it was good, but would benefit from a spice or two. Or maybe more cheese. It could be argued that the way to improve many recipes is simply “more cheese.” If I make this again, I’ll do a melted cheese sauce so it mixes more with the spaghetti squash to coat it more thoroughly like macaroni and cheese.

 

“Remoted” Day 287 (Monday)

In shocking news, the day kicked off with Moose barking. This was followed by going outside, eating breakfast, then attempting to poop on the rug in front of the sink before I could get him back outside. He was getting into poop position when I spotted him, but I ran over and shooed him to the door. He almost made it outside – the first of it landed on the threshold, the remainder was planted on the little deck outside the door. After it was cleaned up, I could finally get dressed.

Before coffee, the trash was bagged. The trash and recycle bins are rolled to the curb before the recommended time of 7:00. Sometimes the trucks arrive shortly after 7:00, so delaying can be a gamble. My next-door neighbor, owner of the last house on our dead-end street, is never one to gamble with the pickup time. One of the barrels from her multifamily was posted in front of my house before 8:00 Sunday morning. By the afternoon, the full contingent of barrels arrived.

This morning’s first light revealed three trash bins and two recycle bins perfectly spaced and centered along the entire 22-foot length of my front yard fence in an impressive and precise display of symmetry and balance. A green recycle bin sat on each end with three red bins meticulously placed between them. There was no room left for my barrels in the space along my own property frontage. This is often the case, but it doesn’t always bother me. Today it did. 

I marched out to the street in a huff and kicked the neighbor’s recycle bin on the end to shove it into the next trash bin, and then shoved and shifted all five bins to fit my own trash bins at the curb. I did this with as much noise as possible, although this effort was mostly wasted, as the perpetrator had already left for work.

Spaghetti squash seeds.

Yes, there was swearing, and I hope any witnesses enjoyed the performance. It was juvenile, but the exertion of kicking and slamming the bins made me feel better. It’s probably better to punch the neighbor’s trash bin in front of my house than the neighbor. Almost immediately after the recycle truck came, the tenant removed the two recycle bins from the front of my house, so I suspect she may have seen the morning spectacle. The bins often remain in place as late as Wednesday, after having been placed there some weeks as early as Saturday morning.

In a flurry of vacation day activity, the very large spaghetti squash was roasted today. This feat first required hacking my way into the squash with my non-professional grade, lightweight knives. It was huge, and there is now more roasted spaghetti squash than I know what to do with. 

The squash seeds were roasted, providing a new favorite roasted seed. Spaghetti squash seeds are larger than those from butternut and acorn squash, and very tasty. The home roasted squash seed rankings now stand at spaghetti, acorn, butternut. In case you are wondering. 

“Remoted” Day 286 (Sunday)

Trapped, but enjoying it.

The morning was spent with Moose in my bathrobe-clad lap and a coffee cup in hand. Even when the cup was empty, I remained in place to not disturb him because it was too nice a moment to ruin with movement. Winston isn’t the lap sitting type, so there are no shared moments like this with him, even though I’ve tried. The closest thing to a cuddle from Winnie is him laying next to my soft, pillow-like thigh. His other affectionate moments are when he wraps his front legs around my arm so he can lick my wrist. For the duration, I’m held prisoner while he has his way with my arm and it’s pretty funny. 

After a sumptuous breakfast of a carrot cake cupcake, it was time to deal with some vegetables that were beginning to suffer from neglect. Brussel sprouts were trimmed and halved. Carrots were cut into chunks. These were tossed in olive oil with salt and pepper and spread on a cookie sheet lined with tin foil. Sweet potatoes were pierced with a fork and placed on another foil lined cookie sheet. The whole lot went into a 400-degree oven per roasting instructions found online. Three minutes after the vegetables went into the oven, the smoke detector at the bottom of the stairs in the dining room began its shrill peal. 

The range fan was turned on high, and I was annoyed it hadn’t been done sooner. Then I grabbed a dish towel and ran to the smoke detector to wave it at the detector until it stopped its eardrum piercing shriek. The dogs ran for cover. Moose disappeared upstairs, while Winston cowered in the corner of the couch. The window over the sink was opened. The kitchen and front doors were opened. The dining room slider was opened a few inches. Temperatures outside were in the 30s. There was no visible smoke.

Unfortunately, this scenario used to happen when roasting eggplant. I think the problem is the 400-degree temperature causes the olive oil to smoke. The oven was cleaned on Tuesday when I was avoiding baking and it’s the cleanest it’s been in ages, so I'm going with the oil smoke temperature on this.

The next thing was to locate Moose. He was in the furthest corner of the bedroom, hidden under the bed with just a sliver of his butt and his tail visible. He was trembling. It took some coaxing to get him out.

The alarm went off at least three times in the first 15 minutes of roasting. There were cuss words, which certainly added to the doggy stress levels. Between the detector and the swearing, there was a brief period where things were loud and colorful in the BungaLowell.

Winston in recovery from the cooking.

When it was time to turn the carrots and Brussel sprouts, the oven temperature was reduced. Screw the instructions, this was too stressful. There were no more smoke detector activations. After the excitement of the three alarm vegetables, the dogs were nervous and trembled for a half hour. Once they calmed down, they slept on the couch. It was stressful for me, so I can imagine the effect on the pups. 

Once the vegetables were roasted, cooking shifted to frozen ravioli and tomato sauce for lunch before the kitchen was cleaned and closed for the day. There is still a bowl of apples and onions on the table. And a butternut squash, a spaghetti squash, and more vegetables arriving Wednesday. But after the smoke detector nonsense and all the stress it generated, the enthusiasm for further kitchen work was extinguished, as was the oven. Quiet was restored.

“Remoted” Day 285 (Saturday)

Christmas Day plus one / Boxing Day / Saturday began quietly and stayed that way. The service station where the car was delivered  was closed, or just wasn’t answering the phone, but in any case, there is no news about the broken car.

Many candies were consumed.

The most strenuous activity undertaken was the harvest of the perpetually replenishing poop. This was followed by the even less strenuous storage of the Christmas gift bag inventory (I walked upstairs and returned them to the spare room), and sweeping of the kitchen floor, despite Moose’s best efforts to interfere by walking through the sweepings and chasing the broom. These took all of 20 minutes, if that.

The neglect of my personal physical fitness and exercise continues, facilitated by hours and hours of daily sitting at work and leisure, and manifesting in diminished flexibility and strength. The moving picture streaming entertainment for the day was the remaining episodes of “Bridgerton” followed by “The Spanish Princess.” Historical costume dramas are interesting, but a streaming issue with Prime kept pausing “The Spanish Princess” every minute or two tonight, resulting in aggravation. 

1996 permed hair?

In the realm of personal history, time was enjoyed looking at three photo albums Mom gave me yesterday. One is a scrapbook of Grandpa Ray’s life made by his wife Markie. Forty years before the current scrapbooking trend, Markie was creating scrapbooks documenting various family members. Dozens of them sat labeled and numbered and catalogued in her book case. Another album was one we created about Mummu’s life for the surprise 80^th birthday party Mom organized for her. We had asked family members to submit photos of themselves with Mummu from the early years. It was fun reliving the day spent with many family members and puzzling over my hair cut, which looks permed and is a hair style on my head of which I have no recollection. More likely, it was blocked from memory, but it appears in many photos in an album and I can only wonder what I was thinking in 1996.

In addition to the floor sweeping, there was also a day-long kitchen cookie clean sweep accomplished by unrestrained snacking. This, of course, was followed by the self-inflicted stomach ache. Maybe it was the supper of gouda, Triscuits, and summer sausage that tipped it over the edge, but more likely it was the many pieces of vanilla fudge with sea salt that followed. 

“Remoted” Day 284 (Friday)

Quiet morning.

Any snow that remained on the lawn this Christmas morning was pummeled into oblivion by the rain, making for a wet and earthy green-brown Christmas. The lake-sized puddles are returned to one driveway and the end of the street. Moose and Winston were remarkably accommodating about going outside and the potty area is easier to access sans snow banks. 

Coffee was enjoyed by the glow of the silver tree, while my long lost manfriend Doctor Who visited me via BBC America and the magic of the TV screen. It made for a peaceful and relaxing morning. Baked goods were boxed and gifts packed for a trip to Mom’s.

Up until the final pre-departure minute, it was debated whether or not the dogs would accompany me. On the “pro”-side, when they are with me, I can keep an eye on them, which certainly categorizes me as a bona fide hovering helicopter pet parent. Their attendance removes the need to rush back for the designated time for doggy dinner and medication.

On the “con”-side, the boys tend to run around excitedly at Mom’s before settling down and I would need to schlepp their beds for the car and visit. Moose benefitted from the night’s rest and was limping less, which shifted the concern to keeping him calm for additional healing. After consideration, the pups were confined to the usual kitchen and bathroom area with no hazards available for jumping onto or from, and it was a solo journey.

Traffic out of Lowell was nonexistent at 11:00 am and lights in Christmas green were favorable for the  journey from Pawtucketville to the Connector. The car heater, which thankfully was not really needed, blew only chilled air. Yesterday it worked well, and a mental note was made to call my neighborhood auto shop for heater service.

One mile off Route 495 on Route 2 west, the good fortune changed. The gas pedal began to have hesitation, and then acceleration in a forward direction was quickly impeded. Aladdin’s red oil lamp flickered on, then off. I wished upon the genie’s lamp for no problems as I pulled over to the breakdown lane, thankful to be in an area where there was such a lane. Not far down the road, the orange barrels of a construction zone have eaten the breakdown lane. 

Mom and StepDad were phoned and conversation occurred with the possible long-distance potential diagnosis of “loss of coolant” identified. The next call was to the helpful folks at Triple-A to request a tow. Thank goodness for membership in AAA. And what did people do in the event of road trouble before cell phones? A third call was to my sister to share the glad tidings of my plight, where she noted that my call had much better clarity than from my house. Apparently, for clear calls, I just need to drive about 15 miles from home to Route 2 where it passes through the middle of the conservation area. This is good information.

Until we meet again ...

To occupy myself while awaiting roadside rescue and at Mom’s suggestion, the contents of the car were collected for removal. Approximately ten pounds of music CDs were retrieved from the passenger seat storage drawer, CD compartment, and seatback pockets of both front seats. The rear cargo area held a yoga mat, big umbrella, and ski poles placed there two winters ago in optimistic anticipation of winter sports participation. Thank goodness for the stockpile of reusable shopping bags kept in the car. A puddle in the breakdown lane provided the unfortunate information that the day’s footwear choice was not of the waterproof variety.

StepDad and Mom collected me from the area of mile marker 112.2. A brief investigation was conducted under the hood to check hoses and belts, but modern engine designs prevent accessing much without dismantling everything. After another 30 minutes, a flatbed truck arrived and a driver clad in a safety jacket loaded my chariot for transport 14 miles back to an AAA auto shop in Lowell.

We three continued to Mom’s house with the bagged contents of my car. I was thankful the dogs and their beds were not part of the ordeal. Transferring them from one car to the other with the highway traffic and noise has the makings of a nightmare.

Well deserved cookies.

After dinner, there was a quick peek through some albums of family photos dating back to the early 1900s. Then, I drove Mom’s car home. It was dark and raining but the hard part was not knowing where the various controls are. It’s possible the high beams were on the entire drive home. It was never figured out how to adjust the side mirrors, but the seat was adjusted so I could sort of see the mirrors.

Once safely returned home, a website check of the AAA-designated repair shop indicated it is closed until Monday morning, so it could be several days before there is any word on the fate of the car. After the eventful day, it was time to unwind with some cookies. 

“Remoted” Day 283 (Thursday)

Christmas Eve has a different feel this year. Since I was a kid, and for decades before that, my family’s tradition was a Christmas Eve party with lots of food. When I was young, there was the exchanging of “family gifts,” which almost always included a new pair of pajamas, and stuff like socks and underwear. On Christmas Day, there was the opening of an obscene pile of “Santa Claus gifts” (whilst wearing the new pajamas), and Mummu came to our house for a big dinner.

When I was young, hosting of the Christmas Eve parties rotated among the homes of Mummu and her sisters. When it was Mummu’s turn to host, I would be there as early as possible to help her prepare. There was baking, cooking, setting out the “nice” dishes, and setting up the relish trays and bowls of nuts to be done. It was fun. Everyone dressed up, and we kids each had a new Christmas outfit from Mummu. Many of the recipes made in Mummu’s kitchen have become Christmas family traditions, referred to now as “Mummu’s Kielbasa,” “Mummu’s Mexican Mocha Ball cookies,” “Mummu’s Pecan Turtle Cookies.” 

Christmas Eve party of one,
your dinner is ready.

As the older generation died off, the party alternated between Mom’s, my sister’s and my house. After my nieces were born, before the party we attended the Christmas Eve Service at our church where the candlelight singing of Silent Night choked me up every time. 

Since I moved to Lowell, and after our church in Fitchburg was dissolved due to declining membership and increasing expenses, Christmas Eve shifted to my house, and Christmas Day dinner at my sister’s. My brother and his wife usually come up from the Cape on the weekend close to Christmas, which extends the festivities by another day.

But not this year. Today was a vacation day, and true to the saga that is my life, instead of a day of R&R, there was a morning trip to the vet. Both boys came for the ride, but the visit was for Winston, who is consuming large quantities of water again. Blood work was done, his sugar is a little high and he’s a couple pounds lighter, but that puts him back to what he weighed when he first came to me, so that’s not bad. In a few days we’ll hear back on some other tests. There was a gift drop and brief visit at my sister’s and a driveway meetup at Dad’s. It wasn’t the usual Christmas activity, but it was still nice.

Merry 2020

After returning home, it was a late lunch of pineapple and black olive pizza delivered from my favorite local pizza shop, a departure from the usual Christmas Eve supper. The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Christmas movies on Lifetime and Hallmark Channel. An added bonus made the day even more special. After a very ungraceful dismount from the car that had him splatted on his belly in the driveway, Moose is now limping. I can't tell if the problem is with his paw or higher up on his shoulder, but the little guy seems hobbled. My luck dictates this could only happen on a major holiday immediately after returning from a trip to the vet. 

For Christmas Eve 2020, instead of hosting my family tonight to enjoy an overabundance of food including finger sandwiches (like Mummu used to make), “Mummu’s kielbasa,” hot and cold appetizers, cookies from Mummu’s recipes, and mulled wine, it’s just me and the dogs. Except for the limping dog, it’s pretty much like any other Thursday. There was the jolt of discovery that I’ve already seen the movies playing on both the Lifetime and Hallmark channels, but that was bound to happen eventually. There was the sad discovery that my cable lineup doesn’t include either channel airing “A Christmas Story” (TBS and TNT), so this evening’s feature presentation is “It’s a Wonderful Life” which is always a nice reminder. 

“Remoted” Workday 189 / Day 282 (Wednesday)

Supper and an audience.

The plan was for a baking after work. My favorite carrot cake recipe was to be made as cupcakes. Hand grating the carrots was a workout. In all the many dozens of times the cake has been made, I managed to forget how thick and dense the dough is and stupidly pulled out the hand mixer. The beaters struggled and it seemed lucky the motor didn’t burn out. The switch to a spoon and the strenuous stirring was exhausting, and several hours later my forearms are still quivering. While battling the dough, I wondered with admiration about the stamina and muscular strength of bakers and cooks in the pre-electricity days. Once the cupcakes were in the oven, it was time for a supper break. Thank goodness for lovely cheeses, crackers, and summer sausages that make for a quick plate. 

The cupcake icing, a very simple two ingredient powdered sugar and lemon drizzle, became surprisingly problematic. Fresh lemon juice was used, and the drizzle tastes weird. Maybe the sugar is tired. I know I am. There are now eighteen cupcakes potentially tainted by yucky drizzle. By this point, I was hot from being near the oven all night, had a headache, and my arms were spent.

After the cupcakes, the baking shift was to end with Mummu’s recipe for  “Forgotten Cookies.” The ingredients are simple. Eggs were separated to beat the whites for the recipe, and because waste makes me nervous, I microwaved the yolks for the dogs. As I was setting the beaters into the hand mixer, there was a pop. In fewer than 30 seconds, the yolks had exploded in the microwave. The beaten to foamy egg whites were to be beaten further with sugar until the mixture “formed firm peaks.” Fifteen minutes in, and the were no peaks, firm or otherwise. My arm was numb from holding the mixer. More than once I considered tossing the whole mess into the trash, but I don’t quit that easily. The batter finally held a tiny peak, and in the desire to just be done with the baking, the chocolate chips and nuts were folded in. The next step is to turn off the 350-degree oven and leave the cookies in for about 10 hours. This is about all I have strength for now, but the last of the gifts arrived today and must be wrapped.

“Remoted” Workday 188 / Day 281 (Tuesday)

The Christmas cookie baking commenced after work. Instead of one of the tried and true recipes that are baked once a year for what feels like forever and are starting to become boring, I decided to try something new this year. Someone posted a recipe for Finnish “S” cookies in the Facebook Finnish Cooking Group and it looked promising. It was mentioned in the group that they are shaped into the letter S for Suomi, the Finnish word for Finland.

It had all the indications of a successful bake. The ingredients are basic and all are on hand. The bake time is 12 minutes, which was considered a plus. The posted recipe didn’t reference mixer speed for the “mix” step so I did it by hand, first with a spoon, then literally with my hands because I am old school like that and also too lazy to pull out the hand mixer. No, I don’t have a beautiful Kitchen Aid mixer, nor the space to keep one.

Looked okay on the sheet.

The dough kept crumbling and it was hard to roll into the designated “log.” It seemed I might have needed the speed and power of the mixer after all. The description of rolling into a log seemed more like it should be a rope based on the photo posted with the recipe. I made a log and rolled it in cinnamon sugar as directed, then I cut it into chunks and hand rolled smaller ropes in cinnamon sugar to match the cookie size in the picture. The dough was really hard to shape into the “S” shape and kept cracking. 

After 1.5 hours of mixing and massaging and fighting the dough into the prescribed shape, I was wishing I had just made my shortbread recipe. The recipe didn’t specify shiny or dark baking sheet and didn’t reference greasing the pan or using parchment, so I chose the shiny sheet for its size. Because the recipe requires an entire stick of butter, I didn’t grease the sheet. 

Some of the casualties.

After baking for the designated 12 minutes at 400 degrees, the S cookies were removed from the oven and allowed to cool for a few minutes before removing to a cooling rack. Most broke upon removal. Out of 30 cookies, seven made it onto the cooling rack without breaking. The rest are broken chunks and dry crumbs. 

Even worse than a bunch of broken cookies, these cookies taste awful, although awful implies there is an actual flavor. These are bland. Mostly flavor free. And now I’m down a stick of butter from an already limited supply. What a colossal cookie failure. 

The oven is now off and the apron hung up. I don’t have it in me to try another recipe tonight. In addition to blowing off almost everything else that bears a resemblance to an actual life over the past nine months, Christmas cookies may be just the latest in a long string of casualties.

“Remoted” Workday 187 / Day 280 (Monday)

Last week, I triumphantly filled an online shopping cart with necessary items in need of replenishment – dog food, face cream, skin lotion, toothpaste, etc. This morning, as the dogs’ breakfast was scooped from a bin with woefully low volume and the adjacent space where the new bag would live sat empty, I realized that the dog food had not arrived over the weekend as expected. The same dog food was seen in the store the other day but not bought because more was already on the way. Or so I thought.

Upon checking Amazon in a panic, it was discovered that dog food had not been ordered since late November. Oops. It took a minute before the realization of what had happened bubbled to the surface. The hobby of online shopping is generally recreational and often more like window shopping and browsing. Online shopping baskets are filled and then set aside while the contents are considered. In the time of abandonment, items might be sold out or the cart expired and emptied while I debate the need for the objects within. When I return to the site, it's as if I had never been there before.

It's really ordered this time ...

Last week’s shopping cart with the dog food and skin creams had an issue. There was a promotion of “buy $30 of select products and save $10.” It required an insane level of hoop jumping to find the magical combination of select products. The $10 discount displayed in the lofty $70 basket, but when it was edited the discount disappeared. One quirk was that the two pack of toothpaste was in the offer, but not the three-pack of the same toothpaste I had changed it to, and other stupid things like that.

In frustration, the cart was emptied and the order begun again to focus on the beauty product discount. The dog food was overlooked in the beauty product bonanza. The dog food is now ordered in an actual order and not an experimental shopping cart. The confirmation email says it will arrive on Wednesday. Thank goodness, because until then, it will be a day of kibble counting and rationing, but once the Prime truck arrives, calm and order will be maintained in the Canine Kingdom, and I will have successfully avoided a trip to a store during the pre-holiday shopping madness.

There was actually a plan for tonight, and it was imagined to be baking. Recipes were chosen and today's lunch and dinner were pulled from the depths of the freezer to create some space for baked goods, but after all that was done, the interest had expired just like some of the online shopping carts. To justify not baking, the oven was set on the self-clean cycle, preventing its use for a solid three hour block. Tomorrow night's cookies will be baked in a pristine environment. The stove is throwing an amazing amount of heat, so now I know that if the furnace ever goes out, I can set the oven on self clean and huddle near it for hours of tropical warmth.

OMG. Most ridiculous glasses ever.

Instead of baking, online shopping for eyeglasses was undertaken to use the freshly renewed prescription and the Health Savings Account card the rep at the bank in Tennessee assured me will work. Of course, I was told that a month ago, and it didn't work, so there is an underlying level of wariness. The “try on” feature of the online eyeglass vendors is fun to play with. After uploading a photo, the site sets the frames on the photo, and some of the results are hysterical. One pair is so ridiculous on me, there is temptation to buy them purely for the comedic value, but that is a silly expenditure. I'll probably just enjoy laughing at the screen shot and wonder who on earth can pull these frames off, because it definitely isn't me. 

“Remoted” Day 279 (Sunday)

Not a lot happened today. At least, nothing that doesn’t also happen in many households all over the world. A small amount of laundry was done. A reasonable-bordering-on-excessive amount of food was eaten. More Christmas movies were watched featuring more actors who remind me of friends. The dogs were exceptionally needy with the battle of inside/outside all day, except during the blessed and peaceful stretches when they slept and snored softly.

New wreath on front door.

The failure to find a wreath hanger during visits to several stores meant alternate action was needed. There are no wire clothes hangers to mangle into a door hanger, so the new wreath intended for the back door was hung on the front door and the wreath that was on the front door was bagged and stored in the basement. Maybe next year. At least there is no longer a wreath taking up space on the dining room table. There is still no tape. After the eye doctor, I even made a special trip to the store and remembered to search for the tape. Craft glue and duct tape were found, but no basic tape tape. The manager said they had been sold out for a couple weeks. Looks like it will be Plan B and raiding the extensive stockpile of Christmas bags instead of the excessive wrapping paper reserve I’ve been tapping for the past several years. 

In the tiny annoying life details arena, based on advice from Mom, I bought Pond’s Face Cream for my super dry face. Her stepmother, who had amazing skin, always used it. I love how it makes my skin feel, but it has a gross fragrance. I also got Gold Bond Ultimate Overnight Deep Moisturizing Lotion to help my legs and hands, which has a different gross fragrance. Why does every skin care product have a scent? Sure makes it tough for anyone who wears cologne. The new lotions are helping my skin but also grossing me out. 

“Remoted” Day 278 (Saturday)

Success! After rescheduling my eye exam at least three times, I finally got myself into the office. The original appointment was scheduled for some point in the earlier days of quarantine guidelines. It wasn’t in my calendar and there was never a reminder sent, but an email over the summer declared “We’re sorry we missed you.” It was confusing, because I wasn't aware of an appointment, but at least it put it on my radar. Unfortunately, the summer email was not saved for reference and later, I couldn’t remember the name of the office (which had been visited only once). 

Finally, another email arrived that read, “It’s been 17 months since we last saw you,” and I was reminded who my new eye doctor is. The site was visited and the inline scheduling feature used. The same scheduling feature allows for changing appointments, which was used several times because it’s much easier to change an appointment when it isn’t required to speak to anyone. The hard part is the system doesn't allow for a cancellation, just a reschedule, which is probably smart on their end. My most recent delay was because the new travel and quarantine restrictions went into effect, and my eye doctor is located just over the state line in Nashua. 

Online appointment scheduling is awesome!

Today, I thought about shifting it again. Health and dental appointments are the closest thing I've had to a date in ages, so I should probably be more excited about them and stop shuffling them around on the calendar. But the office is located in a mall in New Hampshire, and it’s the last Saturday before Christmas, so I was dreading a hot mess of difficult parking and too many people. The thing that got me motivated to go was calculating the year’s worth of payroll deductions for the vision plan I wasn't using. It worked, and my wallet shamed me into going. Even with vision coverage, there was a $39 payment due today for digital imaging, which is much better than the old process of dilation. I don't have anyone to drive me after an eye exam (or anything else), so avoiding dilation is ideal.

The payment allowed for an attempt to “enjoy” the remnants of my old Health Savings Account from my job in Tennessee where we had a High Deductible Health Plan. The sales pitch for the HSA included the information that it wasn’t like Flexible Spending Accounts that have to be used by the end of each year, and this type of account could be held until used. The reality is, my account has had a balance since 2013 because every time I've tried to use the frigging account, since moving back home,  the card is declined. Each time I call the bank and receive the explanation that it's because the account has gone into dormancy. The rep removes the status, but by then, the expense has already been paid out of pocket. Once, I was even charged a $5 dormant account fee which I had to include as taxable income on my tax return. Since then, I've been more alert to dormancy, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't have a lot of co-payments and uncovered medical expenses that the account can be used for.

Remembering that the card declined at my last eye exam and most recently a couple months ago at the dentist, I planned ahead to prevent it happening at today's visit. A few weeks ago, I called the bank in Tennessee that holds the account. The person at the call center said she would take the account out of dormancy, and it was with great confidence that I removed the HSA Visa Debit card from my wallet to pay the $39 fee today. It took a few seconds, but just like when the payment attempt at the dentist, the card was declined again. The bank was called while at the eye doctor, but the call center was not open at 11:00 am central time on a Saturday. The recorded message rattled off three different phone numbers for issues that may or may not have applied to me, but it was hard to keep up with the all the info being spewed in the very long message. I also wasn’t equipped with a pen and paper with which to write the phone numbers. A direct connection via “press <insert number> to reach the XYZ department” would be a much better customer experience, but what do I know, I’m just a frustrated banking customer with an immediate issue with specialized account balance being held hostage by dormant account status that activates every six months. Now I can look forward to calling the bank again, and probably in another six to nine months when I need to use the stupid account the same hoops will be jumped through all over again. At this point, closing the stupid account feels like the best option, and I would if I could ever  access it for the allowable expenses it covers.

On the bight side, my eyes are doing great, prescription is unchanged, and, miracle of pre-Christmas miracles, the mall was not crowded. A parking space was found immediately, allowing me twenty minutes to kill before my appointment, so there was a pleasant stroll along the upper level. It’s the most walking I’ve done in months and there was the tiny thrill of feeling like an outlaw being a hair inside the New Hampshire state line. 

Almost deleted an email with important information.

By the time I arrived home, there was already an email survey about today's visit. As I was about to delete the email after completing the survey,  I noticed that an appointment for next year noted is in the message. If that's how the scheduling is done, it's no wonder I didn't know about my appointment earlier this year. I better make a note in the calendar before the next email purge.

 

“Remoted” Workday 186 / Day 277 (Friday)

My source of torment and joy.

At 4:45 this morning, Moose barked me awake to go outside. This is not unusual. While the Canine Overlords were outside, I sprinted to the human potty to take care of myself. That’s when Moose decided to bark loudly in his most shrill yap at maximum volume to come back inside. This happens any time I don’t wait at the door and watch him. We returned to bed, and shortly after I dozed off again, snuggled under the covers, there was a weird sound from the space between the bed and the wall. It was Moose, backing himself into the narrow space, where he dropped a big ole poop on the rug. It was impressive in both volume and aroma. Cleanup commenced. 

Like most mornings, Moose barked from around 5:30 until I was finally ready to get up with the alarm at 6:00. Practically every morning starts with the tiny tyrant barking at me. It’s glorious. While I dress, he licks my feet. This is one of Moose’s weird “things,” but at least it keeps him calm and he stops barking until I put socks on, and he amps it up even more when I put shoes on. It’s similar to the lecture I get when opening the door to the coat closet. 

Weekend wine o'clock
with chocolates.

During a 15-minute, highly efficient afternoon shoveling session at the steps to the deck, Moose was outside keeping an eye on me from the enclosed yard. At first he was staring at me from the between the pickets. Then he backed himself up to a snow bank that is roughly the same height as he is. He appeared to be sitting on the snow bank, which looked funny, but he wasn’t sitting. When he stepped away, it was revealed that he had planted a poop on the edge of the snowbank, seeming to defy gravity. It was quite an artistic accomplishment. This dog cracks me up with something every day. 

Once done with work, it was time to pause and admire the house across Beaver Brook. For a couple weeks it has had a candle in every window, and seen between the bare trees in the darkness it looks warm and welcoming. In the summer, the house can’t even be seen through the leaves. Wine was opened to accompany homemade toasted tortilla triangles with garlic salt and guacamole while sitting near the silver tree. Chocolates followed and the weekend was declared. 

“Remoted” Workday 185 / Day 276 (Thursday)

The deck is a snowfield.

Snow!!! It was promised and delivered in the form of the light, fluffy, dry stuff. It blew and drifted on all three access stairways to the house – front door, side door and deck – thanks to a design where all access points face the same direction. If one entry is buried in a drift, all are buried in a drift. And the way the winds blow, there is always drifting. Even the shed door gets drifted in. The deck is a glorious field of virgin snow, at least until I get out there to clear some of it - like the area near the gate the delivery folks love so much, even when the stairs leading to it aren't cleared.

At 2:00 this morning it was wildly snowing and blowing and I was in pajamas, bathrobe and shoes while clearing the front steps and a short path from the front door for the dogs to potty. At 6:00, it was a more appropriate outfit of snow pants and ski coat over pajamas with boots and gloves while re-clearing the path that had disappeared since a few hours earlier. It was quick work, but not quick enough for Moose, who refused to step outside and peed on the rug in the porch instead, just inside the storm door. The wet cleanup in aisle one began once the early shoveling shift was done. The French Toast breakfast was a reward for surviving the first couple hours of the day. 

Yummy snowstorm breakfast.

The reality of working remotely delivered a kick. Prior to mid-March of 2020, a weather event that closed the bank branches meant a day free from work and lounging on the couch in leisure. Now, this “new normal” of remote work life means if a pandemic can’t keep us from working, a blizzard dump of a couple feet of snow certainly won’t. No more snow days off is a hard, sad lesson. On the bright side, I was able to enjoy three scheduled video meetings where every wrinkle, crinkle and the full matching set of undereye baggage is displayed on screen in full digital glory. 

At 12:50 another trip was made to the outside world to clear the gate and clean off the car and widen the path from the back door. The project began at the front door, and upon opening the gate, I saw that the driveway had already been cleared in that area. Thanks, awesome neighbor guy! That sped things up considerably, and it was an invigorating half hour of rearranging the fluffy stuff in the other driveway. It is a lot different with a four-foot picket fence than it was with the old post and rail fence. I used to be able to push the show under the fence, toss it between the cross bars, or lob it over. Now, it’s a high toss to clear the fence. Attempts to toss it through the pickets had mixed results. Some went through, but most hit the fence and slid down into a heap. Lesson learned.

For at least a week, at random points in the day, I’ve heard Christmas music when letting the dogs out. Today, while the world was mostly quiet and the snow fell and blew sideways and swirled around, the music was louder and more clear and it was worth pausing in the doorway extra long to enjoy the moment. Sadly, the music was not playing while I was shoveling.

“Remoted” Workday 184 / Day 275 (Wednesday)

Today had some unexpected highs. Pre-work computer time involved quick and interesting research. Last month, while looking at the 1900 census records for my great-great grandfather, I noticed that in addition to him, his wife and their three children, there were eight people listed as “boarders” in the household. All the boarders were from Finland, and some had been in the United States for only a couple months. One boarder had the occupation of “wool sorter,” and two were listed with “rag picker.”

This morning before work, I looked up the occupation of rag picker. A scholarly article titled “A Penny for Your Rags: Rag Pickers and the Paper Industry in the Later 19th Century” by Corinne Cardinale caught my eye because one of Fitchburg’s major early industries was paper making. It turns out, the rag picker was crucial to the paper industry, as cotton, linen were used in making paper, and the mechanization of the paper process increased the need for rags. Wool was sorted by color and recycled for use in "shoddy clothing." The rag pickers, through their trade, even helped keep the streets clean. Interesting. To me, anyway. It reminded me of all the afternoons spent in the Fitchburg Public Library browsing the card catalogue. Dang, I miss those file drawers.

After work, a trip to the Post Office went as smoothly as a trip there could possibly be. There were many cars in the parking lot, which caused worry about a long wait, but inside, there weren’t that many people in the socially distant line and three very efficient people behind the counter. The Post Office journey took a mere thirty minutes including travel. Euphoric from the unexpected ease of the mission, I boldly set forth to Family Dollar for tape, which has been forgotten on several previous store visits. I got the last available cart, which added to the high from the Post Office.

$2 Holiday Cookies are a
cheap pick me up.

The cart enabled restocking critical items like biscuits, canned food, and baby diapers for the dogs, and coffee filters for me. As impressive as the durability and number of times a #4 cone filter can be reused, it will be nice to stop rationing them for the next few weeks. It turns out paper napkins and toilet paper were not needed, but the reserves in the bathroom closet indicate I should be all set for months.

Thirty-five dollars lighter in the wallet and I was finally out of there and back home. Indulgent impulse buys including another $1 wine glass, new place mats for under the dog food bowls, Zapp’s New Orleans kettle cooked Voodoo chips, queso, and more of the highly addictive $2 Holiday Cookies were unpacked. That’s when it was discovered that the tape was forgotten again. 

Perhaps worse than the missing and much needed tape, this box of Holiday Cookies doesn’t taste as good as the box a couple weeks ago, with “not as good” being an almost soap-like after taste in one of the cookie types. Trust me, my potty mouth was introduced to soap at a young age, and the memory isn’t pleasant. Maybe the Zapp’s voodoo chips can offset it. 

“Remoted” Workday 183 / Day 274 (Tuesday)

Tuesday was another one of those days filled with a thousand fiberglass shards of annoyance. Nothing big, just many small things that elevated my sense of general annoyance by degrees to a level that might be considered a public hazard. It started first thing in the morning when the ability to copy and paste content, a command I exercise about 1,000 times a day, suddenly disappeared, on the day I was receiving info from everyone in my immediate work group to compile into a summary for a full department meeting. The day slogged along with random, time-consuming projects landing in my lap and derailing some of the planned to-do list. Nothing was earth-shattering, but my skin seems to be getting thinner every day. And dryer. It was both horrifying and disgusting and also morbidly fascinating to see what looked like dandruff on my black socks and discover that my shins are disintegrating and I am literally turning to dust. Winter is not always my friend.

A box of happy tasty bits!

And then, miraculously, it was the end of the workday. Soup with a piece of bread and butter was a good start. Then, when Moose needed to go out, we used the front door and there was a box on the top step that improved the day dramatically and immediately. Inside was a beautiful array of cheeses, meats, nuts, and tiny cakes. So pretty! Restraint was miraculously exercised and the devouring limited to the four petits fours. 

Progress happened with the ordering of dog food, toothpaste, and face lotion. My legs are turning to dust, but maybe there is time to keep my face from blowing away like dust in the wind. The new 14-pound bag of dog food will be delivered directly to the door this weekend. It’s amazing how the push of a button can allow things to be crossed off a list and eliminate some stress.

After that, there was time to retreat to the mind-numbing effects of the Lifetime Channel, where every Christmas movie and every commercial has an actor who reminds me of someone I know. Sandra Lee made trifle during a commercial break, but all I could see was her resemblance to a former colleague in Tennessee, and one of the male leads in the movie looks like a guy I used to know. In last night’s movie, the Mrs. Claus character looked like my step-grandmother in Texas. Maybe part of the appeal of the Hallmark and Lifetime Christmas movies is not just the sappy happy endings, but the degrees of familiarity of the characters. Or the stretch of 274 days with limited human contact is making me delusional and hallucinating friends.

“Remoted” Workday 182 / Day 273 (Monday)

Temperatures were in the 50s yesterday and today, headlines are declaring the "Biggest snow, ice storm in years set to wallop the eastern US" in the middle of the week. All a pretty normal almost-winter day in New England, really. I hope we don't get shortchanged like the last predicted snowfall when it was hours of rain and then a couple inches of wet snow. 

After work, it was a stretch of overeating that began with a last of the latkes supper and a baked sweet potato and the realization that, although the presentations were different, with the exception of some applesauce, it was a 100% potato meal. This was followed by Veggie Straws and cookies and a level of amazement at how much food can be stress eaten in 40 minutes. Thank you holidays plus pandemic plus absence of any Christmas gift ideas and a host of other stupid stuff.

Then there was TV, well, because, it's a safe escape. Life used to have other activities and interests, but now it's just TV. In December, I have my annual date with holiday movies and commercials. The brief hiatus from streaming reinforces why I spend the other 11 months with my Prime and Netflix subscriptions. In the past three or four days I’ve seen way too many commercials for pharmaceuticals. There are some medications with some crazy sounding names that the advertisers inform me I should ask my doctor about. I will not be doing this. Then there was the commercial inviting viewers to “explore the wonders of an award-winning blend” with “Menage a Trois” wine. Ummm, ok? It sounded nuts, so I looked it up online. The website claims that “We will bring you blissful pleasure when we're together.” That is a mighty lofty promise from a bottle of wine, indeed. I needed a cold shower after reading about the sexy wines.

Tonight’s 6:00 Lifetime movie, “A Christmas in Tennessee,” turned out to be annoying, and not just for the three-minute commercial interruptions every four minutes. Without the ads, this movie would be about 45 minutes long instead of two hours. In this one, the single mom main character runs the bakery her parents ran. She gets a big cookie order and after closing the shop for the day, she is baking the new order with her long hair down and loose. Yummmy hair cookies coming up. Also, she’s basically on a date and being very playful in her alleged business kitchen and her new potential love interest is eating the raw cookie dough and playing with the cut-out, still unbaked cookies for the big customer order. Ummm…. No. Stop. This is not flirty home baking, this is supposed to be a business. Are there no health department rules?

Movie dance studios are
always amazing.

The movie set in Tennessee pushed me over the edge with the mandatory precocious child and when it was finally over I hopped back to Netflix to escape the sugar-coated stories and annoying commercials. The alternative is a series about ballet dancers which opens with a dancer going over the edge of a roof. This show comes with a warning label about “self-harm – sex – nudity – language” and not a grain of artificial sweetener. Thank goodness.  A poorly acted show about ballet dancers in an elite boarding school with dance scenes in huge studios with a live pianist are what I need to get the aspartame taste out of my mouth. 
 

“Remoted” Day 272 (Sunday)

Today’s temperatures were around 50 degrees, which was perfect for yard work. At this time of year, yard work means harvesting the dog poo. The harvest is an opportunity to observe certain elements of the canine digestive system. Based on the colorful evidence dotting the yard, neither dog thoroughly chews the raw carrots they love, and lightly chewed raw carrots seem to travel through the canine system to be deposited largely intact on the lawn like confetti. Between the front and back yards and Moose’s new preferred spots along the length of in the driveway, the bucket was filled.

After the exciting time spent collecting natural specimens from the yard, there was soup making, which was far more pleasant. The time around and between the chores and cooking were spent on the couch with the Hallmark Channel and Lifetime Christmas movie offerings. I used to hate Christmas movies but now they are my preferred holiday mental numbing agent, delivered in doses every 90 to 120 minutes. Thanks to the standard movie formula it’s possible to wander away from the screen and do small tasks like check on the soup or even take a nap without missing much in the way of plot points. 

A Timeless Christmas

The 6:00 movie on Hallmark Channel involved a man who wound a clock and then fainted in 1903 and woke up in 2020, so that was a new and interesting twist and not so easy to get out of. Luckily, he awakened in his own home, which is now a history museum, so he was able to pose as a historical interpreter portraying himself. While he was busy falling in love in 2020 and learning about the past he disappeared from, I was busy wondering what would happen if he didn't find his way back to his own time. How can he get a job in 2020 when he is from 1903? He was an inventor back then, what will he do now with no identity and verifiable experience? I hate when modern reality seeps in and ruins a movie. 

Two bars downstairs.

More bars upstairs!

During a phone call with my sister, the call kept dropping. There were seven frustrating connections, some as brief as 11 seconds before we finally gave up and texted instead. Some of the conversation was trying to figure out whose phone was the problem. The cell service in my house is generally bad enough that the phone displays barely one bar, and I used to get the message “out of service area” while standing in my kitchen. The best place in the house for successful phone calls is upstairs in the bedroom where three or four bars might be obtainable, but that isn’t always very convenient. A later call with my brother dropped only once, but he said the volume kept changing, so it’s probably time to start investigating phone issues again. It’s been a few months, so we’re right on time. 

“Remoted” Day 271 (Saturday)

This week involved quality time with the stove and moderate levels of improvisation and winging it. There was a potato latke experiment on Thursday night, which was less about Hanukkah and more about having seen latke recipes everywhere I looked for the week leading up to Hanukkah. It’s been decades since I had latkes – all the way back to the last century and the first ex-husband who is Jewish. His parents came to America from Poland, and his mother was an amazing cook. I wish I’d had the chance to learn her recipes from her, but she lived in the Bronx and we didn’t see each other often. Even when we were there, the galley kitchen in her Co-Op City apartment made it next to impossible to have more than one cook in there at a time. 

Latkes, applesauce and coffee
 for breakfast.

One intriguing recipe that surfaced is a dessert sweet potato latke dipped in chocolate, but a non-dessert version was chosen instead. A recipe that involves baking instead of frying in batches became the winner. There were only two small white potatoes and two small sweet potatoes, so the latkes ended up being a mix of both potatoes with onion, bushed with oil and baked. They weren’t super crispy but they were really good.

Since the Thursday supper of latkes with apple sauce there have been latkes for brunch with sour cream and weekend breakfast latkes with applesauce and there are still a couple more left to go.

Somewhere along the way, rugelach made with refrigerated pie crust bubbled up to consciousness. This is a time saver, but lacks the cream cheese in most of the rugelach crust recipes. I love rugelach, but any time I see it for sale anywhere it feels too expensive or maybe I am just too frugal. Ex-husband number one used to call me “the Frugal Finn,” and he would also tell people he waited to get married until he “found a woman with a good credit rating and health insurance benefits.” The people he told included two levels of bosses and all my colleagues at the company Christmas party the first time he met any of them. He said it so often that after a few years it felt like there was more truth than joke to the comment. Gee, I wonder why we aren’t still together….

Once the burnt filling/sugar is
removed, they taste good.

Saturday morning laptop time was a recipe search and a plan. A pre-made pie crust was unfurled and spread with orange marmalade and ground almonds because they were both in the cabinet. The instructions said to spread it thin. As I rolled the dough with the filling, the marmalade oozed out. If it said “a shmear” instead of “thin” and I might have gotten it better. While in the oven, even more marmalade oozed out and burnt sugar surrounded each piece. Thank goodness for parchment paper or it would have been baked solid to the cookie sheet. After breaking off the burnt jelly sugar, the remaining cookies were really good. So good that, two hours after coming out of the oven there were only three pieces left. A rainy Saturday spent streaming shows and eating too many pieces of fresh rugelach is a pretty good day. 

“Remoted” Workday 181 / Day 270 (Friday)

Winnie sporting doggles at the vet.

It’s another Doggy Day Anniversary at the BungaLowell. Nine years ago today, Moose and I met Winston for the first time. It was a deliberately brief visit that was followed later that week with an overnight visit. After the holidays, Winston, aka Winnie / Winnebago / Boo and a list of other nicknames came to stay for good. Before coming to me, Winston lived with one of my roller derby teammates. He's one of many good things that came out of my time in roller derby. 

From the beginning and even still, the two dogs generally give each other wide berth, with exceptions. They never cuddle with each other, but they both cuddle with me, sometimes one on either side, and I’m a fan of that. I’m not sure either one of them knows how to play. Toys are ignored. Tossed objects are not retrieved, instead, the dogs remain still and look puzzled.

Winnie has several adorable behaviors. When we lived in Tennessee, he would disappear each night, and I'd find him tucked into my bed. Nowadays he stays close, and when he wants my attention, he will gently tap my arm or my ankle with his paw. If Winnie is standing, he alternates tapping his front paws like he’s dancing to get my attention. He used to jump straight up into the air to look out the window until he hurt his knee and needed laser treatments, where he flirted with every technician at the veterinary office. 

Unlike Moose, who seems to enjoy yelling at me during most of his waking hours, Winston is the quiet type. Instead of barking at me, Winston blow airs out of his mouth with a sound like “oof.” If I don’t notice him right away, or ignore him to see how things might proceed, he repeats the sound, a bit louder each time. It’s all very genteel. 

Winston used to tuck himself in.

Moose is always close by. So close, that he is literally underfoot and gets stepped on daily, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. Winston, on the other hand, will be in my general vicinity and if I stop or change direction quickly, he squeals like he’s been stabbed when he hasn’t been touched. This is not a genteel sound. Winston can also be as silent as a ninja. He’s smart enough to figure out how to sneak under the gate and squeeze through the small space between the fencepost and the house. He waits in the far corner of the yard until I open the gate, then runs top speed across the yard, through the gate, down the driveway, around to the stairs, and straight into the house. This is assuming I timed my part of the performance correctly and opened the door in time.

Moosie and Winnie have taught each other things. Winston started standing with one front paw lifted from the floor like Moose. Moose used to squat to pee, but now he lifts his leg like Winston does. After Winnie joined us, Moose stopped eating so much fabric. They may not act like best buds, but they get nervous when they are separated.

They don’t play with each other, but they know how to play me. They will both suddenly appear when I’m working and start tilting their heads to the biscuit bin nearby. One will go to the door and signal to go outside, but the other won’t go out. When the outside dog comes in, they run to the biscuit bin for a cookie. Then the dog that stayed in wants to go out, and when he comes in, they both beg at the biscuit bin. It is a masterfully choregraphed production, with a daily matinee.

Every night includes a ritual. While I brush my teeth, Winston slinks into the bathroom like a ninja to watch me. When the teeth brushing is done, Winnie herds me out of the bathroom and towards Moose, and the container of snacks. The bedtime doggy snacks are gathered and the boys escort me upstairs, but it is more likely they are escorting the snacks.

It’s fun with Winston and Moose and I love our little routines. It would be very dull without them. Happy glad I met you day, Winnie!